Fate's Favorite
by OxEyed
Summary: Deep in the Egyptian desert, an ancient evil changes Ishizu's life. Fifteen years later, a chance encounter with the supernatural finds Ryuuji Otogi in the center of a centuries-old battle where choosing sides is a privilege and death only a roadblock. Features Otogi, Ishizu, Honda, and Marik. AU, rated for language/violence.
1. Death

**Title: **_Fate's Favorite_

**Length: **62,000 words/10.5 Chapters

**Rating: **T for language, violence, mature themes, etc.

**Summary**: Deep in the Egyptian desert, an ancient evil changes Ishizu's life. Fifteen years later, a chance encounter with the supernatural finds Ryuuji Otogi in the center of a centuries-old battle where choosing sides is a privilege and death only a roadblock. Supernatural AU.

**Notes: **After a conversation with a lit professor convinced me to try my hand at writing a story about vampires, I found myself in an unfamiliar genre with a story that wouldn't stop growing. Fifteen months and countless drafts later, I'm glad to say I'm finally done. It was an adventure into the unfamiliar, and that alone made it worth writing.

While this _does_ list Honda and Otogi as main characters, Ishizu dominates this chapter. The boys will show up next time. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

* * *

**0: Death**

"_What we call the beginning is often the end. _

_And to make an end is to make a beginning. _

_The end is where we start from." _

— _T.S. Eliot_

It was midnight, and Ishizu was breaking her curfew.

It might have been trickier to sneak out of the chambers where her family slept, but the outer halls were still difficult to navigate in the dark. Every sense alert, she crept down the dim corridor, a hand pressed against the cracked granite walls as she listened for any guards that might find her and send her back to bed. Like every member of their clan, she'd had their schedules so ingrained in her daily life that she knew, down to the minute, when it was safe to skirt along the rare patch of light and when she had to stay absolutely still in the shadowed recesses along the wall.

She'd been told that these small spaces had originally been designed to hold the mummified remains of their ancestors, but now they held nothing but dust and cobwebs. It hadn't taken them long to learn that corpses were far less likely to reanimate if they'd been cremated. None of the clan members, not even old Siamun, could remember ever keeping a body in the catacombs.

Ishizu knew, in an abstract sort of way, that other families didn't live in crypts, but she'd never seen this for herself, and this way of living, in the constant presence of death, was as natural to her as the daily combat drills and divination sessions. It was simply the way things were.

Not that she was unaware of change: before her mother had died, she'd told Ishizu that if you stood directly beneath the small ventilation shafts carved into the ceiling and looked straight up, you could see the stars. Since then, they'd installed floodlights aboveground, and the thin beams that came down the shafts and fell onto the floor prevented anything resembling stargazing. Ishizu herself had never seen a star in her life. She wouldn't be old enough to leave the compound for a good three years.

Tonight, the stars were the last thing on her mind. The stone was cold under her bare feet, but her thoughts were colder. She'd had a dream, one where a creature descended out of the darkness and consumed the desert with teeth made of ice until there was nothing left but damp skin and her thudding heartbeat. She didn't know if it had been a vision or simply a nightmare; she'd only barely started training in the art of prophecy, but the first thing they'd taught her was to trust her instincts.

The difficulty was convincing others of the danger. She didn't dare risk waking an elder, not even her father, for the dream of a novice. Instead, she'd headed for the entrance of the catacombs, where her older brother would be on guard duty. People respected Rishid. If she could convince him, he could convince the elders. They would know what to do.

The patter of footsteps in a nearby corridor made her pause, ready to duck into the closest recess, but as she listened, they stopped and continued again in the opposite direction. When they'd faded completely, she moved forward. She was close.

The Necklace sat heavy on her neck. She shouldn't have taken it from her room—she wasn't even allowed to wear it without permission—but she'd been frightened enough to slip it on before she snuck past her sleeping father. If her dream _was_ a vision, she needed to be prepared.

When she found the stairs, she touched a steadying hand to the wall and peered into the darkness to ensure the absence of guards. She didn't want to think about what would happen if her father found out that she'd left their quarters. Leaving the compound was a different story. She thought Rishid had been posted right by the door, but if he wasn't, she would have to think of a different strategy: she wasn't permitted to take even one step outside the walls. All she could to do was climb up to the trapdoor entrance and knock. Already she could see the floodlights streaking through the cracks in the wooden slats.

Even as she braced herself to climb up the stairs, she saw the light dissipate; the hall went dark. Thinking for a moment that she'd gone blind, Ishizu blinked frantically and raised her fingers to her eyes. Someone outside raised a shout of alarm and it was echoed around the compound, the patter of running feet sounding in every direction. Something was wrong. Shivering, she pressed herself against the wall and touched the Necklace again, wondering if she should try to use it. She'd had very little training, but thought she could access enough of its power to generate some light.

She thought she heard a scream, and looked up just as someone flung open the trapdoor above her. There were no stars and there was no moon, but still she could make out Rishid's lanky silhouette against the dark sky, and as she leaned forward to call out to him, he turned around, murmuring something, and a second silhouette, large and unfamiliar, appeared beside him.

"Come in," Rishid whispered, and Ishizu barely had time to react before the trapdoor slammed down again, enveloping the three of them in darkness.

Someone moved down the stairs, and Ishizu reached out blindly, her mouth opening to say her brother's name, when a cold hand closed around her wrist and wrenched her away from the wall. A second hand pressed against her mouth when she tried to scream, the skin foul and strong and rough. She tasted blood and froze.

"What is it?" Rishid asked, still at the top of the stairs.

"An observer, it seems." The voice that replied was flat and strangely accented, as if reciting foreign poetry. Ishizu knew the name and face of every person in their clan, and this voice belonged to none of them. The creature nuzzled its mouth in her hair, his hands tightening on her wrist and mouth as he took a deep breath. "But she is only a child_."_

"What?" Ishizu heard the click of a flashlight and suddenly she was squinting into a beam of light as she heard her brother take a startled step back. "Ishizu?"

Behind her, the creature hissed. "Turn that damned thing off!"

Ishizu's mind raced to comprehend what was happening. The creature behind her could only be a vampire. Only vampires needed to be invited into homes. Only vampires had cold skin and disliked light. She was afraid, but she knew what to do. They all knew how to kill vampires; Rishid surely knew the danger as well as she did. What was he waiting for?

Then her mind caught on to the one fact that she should have noticed first, the cruel clarity of it stunning her for only a moment.

_Rishid had invited him in._

She didn't have time to wonder the how or why of the situation; she only had time to move. The vampire was already pulling her closer, bending his head down toward her neck, and Ishizu had no delusions about what would happen next. With her free hand, she touched the Necklace. It activated immediately, flooding the hall with a supernatural light that protected her better than any physical force ever could.

The scream that erupted from the monster was unearthly; it resounded against the stone like a hammer and spiraled out into the night to vibrate against the sheet metal of the stars. As the light and the ringing in her ears started to fade, she found herself on the ground, freed, her palms and knees stinging. Without hesitating, she pushed herself to her feet and began to run.

The vampire's scream hadn't gone unheard; doors slammed and lights flashed distantly down the corridors as she passed. Ishizu kept running, a hand outstretched blindly out before her, her heart pounding in her throat as the vampire kept screaming and screaming.

She was so focused on running in the dark that it took her a few moments to realize that the screams she was hearing weren't coming from the vampire. She slid to stop and found a wall, panting against the stone as she listened.

The screams were distant, but definitely human. More than one human. Ishizu's blood chilled. The vampire hadn't even bothered chasing her; it had just gone for the nearest possible target. And what had happened to Rishid?

Wiping a sleeve across her face, she turned and started running again. She had to warn the other Item holders. It was the middle of the night and they'd need power to kill this vampire.

As she reached the corner of the catacombs where her family lived, she saw her father standing at the entrance to their quarters, the Rod clasped in his hand.

Ishizu nearly collapsed in relief, but even in the midst of calamity she practiced the respect he was due and lowered her head in a ceremonial bow as she reached him. He hardly noticed, pulling her roughly by the arm into their dimly lit living space. "What's going on?" he demanded. His eyes fell on the Necklace and widened, his expression darkening in fury. "What have you done?"

Ishizu shook her head, gasping for breath. No point explaining that now. "There's a-a vampire! Inside!"

"Impossible. Who would-"

Ishizu shook her head again, more adamantly, and struggled to get out of her father's grasp. "Please! I saw it!" As she spoke, another scream sounded. Closer.

Her father looked through the doorway and dropped her arm. That she was telling the truth, at least, was undeniable. "Take Marik and stay out of the way until this is over." He disappeared through the door, closing it behind him, and Ishizu went into the adjoining chamber, where her second brother sat up on his pallet, blankets pulled up to his chin.

"Why are they screaming?" he asked, his young voice pitched with fear. "Why is it so dark?"

Carefully, Ishizu unraveled the blanket from his sweaty fists and pulled him out of the bed. She stood him up and put her hands on his shoulders, trying express a calm she didn't feel.

"It's just a drill," she told him. "We need to go hide."

Fears assuaged, Marik nodded in instant understanding. They'd all been drilled enough times to know how to react in the case of a surprise attack, and he was still young enough that he couldn't difference between routine and reality. He followed her to the common area, where Ishizu went to the door and pulled the bolt shut, even if it was unnecessary. The vampire wouldn't be able to get in without an invitation, and there was no way Ishizu was going to let him in.

As she waited, she considered the realities of what she'd seen. If Rishid had invited the vampire into the catacombs, could he have invited the vampire into their chambers, as well? She couldn't comprehend how or why her brother had betrayed their family, but she couldn't argue with the evidence of her own eyes. Rishid had been surprised to see her, but he hadn't been horrified.

She glanced back at Marik. He crouched obediently by their only source of light, a small oil-burning lantern. He was using his finger to trace designs in the sand that lined the cracks in the stones. As she watched, he looked up at her and smiled before dropping his head again. The flame flickered once, the shadows to dancing wildly around his small frame, and Ishizu knew that they weren't safe.

"Marik, come here."

Instantly he was at her side, and she put a hand on his head, smiling down at him. "We're going to go down the hall to the royal chambers," she said. "I'm going to need you to be very quiet. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, and Ishizu hurried to her father's bed. She knew that, as one of the elders, he would have a master key to the entire compound. She found it and brought it to the door. No one lived in the royal chambers but their clan leader and his eldest son, a boy a little older than Marik. Long ago, Siamun had told her that the chambers once held the mummy of a king. They were certainly the largest and most ornately decorated section of the catacombs. More importantly, both occupants were experienced Item holders. There was no way the vampire would be allowed inside.

Sliding the deadbolt open, she took Marik by the hand and pulled him out the door. She needed her free hand to feel along the wall in the dark, so she gave Marik the key to the royal chambers. The immense responsibility of holding it would keep him quiet and obedient.

In this manner, they slowly made their way down the corridor, Ishizu listening intently for danger, Marik padding silently behind her. The corridor was still. Since her father had left, Ishizu couldn't remembering hearing anything human _or_ vampiric. As she contemplated what this could mean, Marik whimpered, his hand tightening around hers.

"Marik?" she whispered, turning. "What's wrong?"

There was no answer. Then a quiet hiss.

"Well, well, well," the vampire said. "This one's even smaller."

Ishizu couldn't see anything, but suddenly Marik's hand was yanked out of her grasp and she spun around, hands outstretched, trying to figure out where he'd gone.

She heard a muffled cry.

"So small," the vampire said. "I can't believe they'd let children run around in a place so..._dangerous_."

"Stop!" Ishizu said, her hands automatically rising to her neck.

"Oh, no you don't," the vampire chided. He could see her, even if she couldn't see him. "You can't trick me twice, girl. Take it off, or this one dies."

The vampire couldn't risk taking the necklace from her by force; even touching it could seriously weaken him. If she took it off, they would have nothing to protect them.

In the darkness, she heard Marik's labored breathing, and she clenched her hands into fists. If she gave up the Millennium Necklace, it could endanger the entire clan, but it was one thing to say it in theory and another to let her little brother die right in front of her.

"It's the uncertainty isn't it?" The vampire said, and she thought she could hear him smiling. "I _might_ kill you both anyway, is that what you're thinking? But I might not. What you _can_ be certain of is that if you haven't taken that damned thing off in the next two seconds, I will rip this boy to pieces."

Ishizu pressed her hands to her mouth and tried to think, tried to breath. She could hear Marik's voice, strained; he was crying. He was telling her not to do it. Even he knew that she was doing the wrong thing. She knew it too.

The clasp snapped open far too easily, given the weight of the situation, the necklace sliding onto the stones in a metallic clatter that made her cringe.

Then Marik screamed and Ishizu lurched forward, thinking that it'd been hopeless, that the vampire had killed him after all. And then there was another scream, a scratching metallic one she knew was the vampire's, and something hurdled into her in the darkness. She fell onto her back, hitting her head against the stones, the Necklace skidding off down the hall.

"Ishizu!"

Light speared through the night, and she saw the vampire reeling, a hand clasped over his eyes, and as she watched, the shadows reached forward to catch him as he fell back, snatching him out of the light and swallowing him until he'd disappeared completely before her eyes.

The light faded, only to be replaced by the more erratic glow of several flashlights, and she found herself surrounded by several of the Item bearers.

"Are you all right?" One of them knelt down beside her as the others continued on to make sure that the vampire had fled. He swung the flashlight over Ishizu, his fingers clenched protectively around the golden sphere in his hand. The Millennium Eye.

"Yes," Ishizu said. "But the vampire—"

"Don't worry, we'll hunt him out. How is your brother?"

She looked down, painfully aware of the dead weight in her arms. "Marik?" she asked, the panic rising in her voice as she pulled him up with trembling hands. "Marik?!"

He squirmed and she gasped, pulling him into a fierce embrace, almost immediately letting him go again to look him over, hardly believing that he'd escaped unscathed.

"How—?" she said, pushing his hair back, examining his body for injuries. "I thought—"

Utterly unafraid, Marik smiled a grim smile and raised his hand. Clenched in his palm, wet with blood, was their father's key.

"I got his eye," he said, and Ishizu, laughing with relief, clung to him tighter than ever.

* * *

**XIII.** **Death**. The arrival of the end and the beginning of a new phase. Sudden transformations have arrived in your life, making it necessary to let go of the past and look toward the future.


	2. The Fool

**1. The Fool**

"_Nay, fly to Altars; there they'll talk you dead;_

_For fools rush in where angels fear to tread." _

— _Alexander Pope_

In hindsight, Ryuuji realized, cheating may have been a bad idea.

Of course, it wasn't _really _cheating if the odds were stacked to begin with. The dice may have been loaded, sure, but they weren't _his_ dice; he just happened to notice that he was being cheated. Why not turn the tables? He wanted somewhere to sleep tonight. They couldn't blame him for being _careful._

Judging by the expressions of the three men gathered in a half-circle around them, they could-and did.

With a sigh, Ryuuji made himself comfortable against the brick wall of the alley, bracing his hands against the mortar and side-eyeing the man opposite him, the one searching his duffel bag. He'd been the one the most sour about losing, and Ryuuji had no doubt that he'd orchestrated this impromptu bag check.

Ryuuji didn't waste time reflecting on this infringement of privacy. Instead, he studied the men on either side of him. The streetlight outside the alley gave him just enough light to see that they were both taller and sturdier than him, though that didn't mean much. Only idiots thought size mattered. They had all played the craps game with him, expecting to win some easy money off a young, eager stranger. Their size hadn't saved them their money, and it wouldn't save them now.

The sound of Ryuuji's duffel bag and all its contents being upended onto the concrete diverted his attention. He kept his hands flat against the wall as he flicked his gaze back to the ringleader. "I hope you're planning on picking that up."

"Shut up, kid," the man on his left growled. He was drunk, but after a night of gaming, they all were. He was just the _most_ drunk. "No one cheats us and gets away with it."

"What the hell is this?" The man with the duffel bag had found a gallon-sized ziplock bag, filled nearly to the brim. Ryuuji didn't have to look to know what was inside: dice of every shape and size and color, some expensive, some loaded, some antique-all that remained of his collection.

He braced himself. "This isn't show and tell, you know."

The man spat to the side and ignored him. "These loaded?"

"No." Ryuuji said easily, keeping his eyes on the men on either side of him. The one on his left, the drunkest one, was swaying, but the one on his right was flexing his hands into fists. He would be the one to watch out for. "I'm not a cheater."

"The hell you aren't. No one has an arm _that_ good."

Swallowing his desire to make a clever comeback, Ryuuji proceeded to prove how good his arm was by launching himself off the wall and delivering a particularly fine right hook into the face of the drunk on his left. Without stopping to watch him fall, Ryuuji turned to the man crouched over his bag, taking hold of him by the hair. A single step and a jerk downwards was all it took for the man's face to collide with Ryuuji's knee.

The resulting crunch was immensely satisfying, but Ryuuji didn't have time to enjoy it. Anticipating the incoming blow from his third, most dangerous, opponent, Ryuuji twisted to the side and ducked, taking the punch to the shoulder. He let the momentum propel him backwards and kept retreating, using the space to reach into his jacket and pull out a compact 9mm Beretta. Without stopping, he spun around and sighted down the barrel, only to find that he had no target.

The man lay sprawled on the ground, and above him stood a fourth man, a stranger. Shaking out his fist with the casual easiness of an experienced fighter, the man turned toward Ryuuji, and Ryuuji realized that he recognized the man-he just couldn't remember where he'd seen him before. Not particularly surprising-Ryuuji had met a lot of people over the course of his life, but it was more than that-this stranger had one of those strong, masculine faces that people respected but rarely remembered. But his expression was intelligent, and he raised his eyebrows in polite curiosity as Ryuuji studied him.

"You can lower the gun," he said.

Ryuuji kept the gun raised and took quick inventory of the area, making sure that all three men on the ground were truly unconscious. He didn't know how long they'd stay down, and he wasn't about to hang around to find out.

"What do you want?" he asked. "Do I know you?"

The man shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Nah. Just looked like you needed help."

It was Ryuuji's turn to raise his eyebrows, this time in disbelief. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm _not_ the good guy in this scenario?"

The stranger paused and glanced up at the sky. In the darkness, it was hard to tell, but Ryuuji thought he was seriously considering the question.

Finally the stranger shrugged. "In my book, the good guys are usually the outnumbered ones."

"Maybe in the movies," Ryuuji said, but he lowered the gun. "And for your information, _champ_, I had everything under control."

"Yeah? Were you really going to shoot him?"

"I wouldn't have needed to, so the question's irrelevant. But to answer your _real_ question: no, I'm not a coward."

"That wasn't my real question." The stranger nodded toward the mouth of the alley. "There's a couple cops parked right around the corner. Probably shouldn't be shooting guns if you don't want to get arrested."

Narrowing his eyes, Ryuuji took half a step backward and twisted so he could look toward the street without turning his back completely. He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean much. There was a good chance that the guy was telling the truth. Ryuuji had already noticed an influx of police cars in this area earlier tonight. Couldn't be too careful.

The stranger didn't seem bothered by Ryuuji's caution; even as he stood carelessly over the guy he'd decked, he watched Ryuuji as though he had nothing to fear from him or anyone else. Still, he seemed harmless.

Ryuuji sighed. "I suppose you want me to thank you."

Another shrug. Rolling his eyes, Ryuuji carefully approached, kneeling beside his duffel bag as he quickly shoved its contents back inside. He kept the gun out, with an eye on the stranger, but he didn't do anything except respectfully step back and watch. When he was done, Ryuuji stood up and slid the strap of the bag over his shoulder, glancing again at the three prone thugs. None of them moved, but that was only to be expected. He'd never been much of a fair fighter.

"So, what?" he asked. "You did your good deed for the day. Want a pat on the back?"

"I don't want anything."

"You're still standing here, aren't you?"

The stranger hesitated, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn't. "I saw you win that game."

"So?"

"So they were cheating."

Ryuuji paused. "You noticed too, huh?" Double-checking the safety, he slid the gun back inside his jacket. "What's your name?"

"Tristan."

"Yeah?" Ryuuji took another look at the man opposite him. He looked about Ryuuji's age, maybe a little older, with a crew cut and a black sports coat that might have made him look dapper if it had fit him properly. As it was, it hung loosely off his shoulders and gave him more of a homeless vibe than the gentlemanly one he'd probably been going for. Still, it was a _nice_ coat. "You got money?"

Tristan blinked. "Enough."

"Good," Ryuuji turned. "Come on," he called over his shoulder. "You're buying me dinner."

Once on the sidewalk, Ryuuji slowed a little, glancing down the street. Yes, there was a police car. No sign of the driver, though. Suddenly nervous, he decided to head in the opposite direction. He'd remembered seeing a decent-looking diner somewhere down this way. As he walked, he pulled the tie out of his hair and ran his fingers through it a few times before tying it back again. _God_, he was tired. He'd already been up for some thirty hours at this point, and the day was showing no signs of ending.

Tristan caught up to him. "I'm not buying you anything."

"Then don't follow me." Ryuuji turned another corner and saw the diner. It'd be hard to miss-it was the only building on the block that was open. He made a beeline for it, grinning when Tristan followed him across the street.

It was the kind of place that tried to emulate the Fifties without really knowing anything about the era, the end result being an atrocious pink-and-chrome combination sickeningly sweet with nostalgia. The restaurant was empty, which Ryuuji didn't care for—can't blend into a crowd if there's no crowd at all—but at the moment he was too hungry to care. It was two a.m. and all he'd had since noon was a few beers and a handful of french fries. He waved down the lone, tired waitress and held up two fingers when she asked, with rote boredom, how many people were in his party.

She waved them to a corner booth, and Ryuuji shoved his duffel into the seat before sliding in after it. He patted the space next to him invitingly, but Tristan chose the seat across from him and only shook his head when the waitress asked if he wanted something to drink.

Tristan's stoicism only worsened the waitress's mood. Ryuuji gave her his most winning smile in compensation. "Coffee, thanks."

She smiled back at him, encouraged, and disappeared into the kitchen. Satisfied, Ryuuji settled into his seat, picked up the menu and studied it thoughtfully, unbothered by Tristan's failure to even touch his.

"So, Tristan," he said. "You live around here?"

"No."

"So?" Ryuuji said, lowing the menu. "What are you doing in a dead-end town like this?"

"Just passing through."

"If you were just passing through, you wouldn't be hanging out in alleys in the middle of the night."

Tristan's glare was only half annoyed; still it took him another few seconds to come up with an answer.

"I'm looking for someone."

"More interesting. Who?"

"…A friend."

"Ah." Ryuuji grinned across the table. "You find them?"

As Tristan shook his head, the waitress brought back Ryuuji's coffee and asked for their orders. Ryuuji settled on an omelet with steak. If he was getting a free meal out of this, he wasn't going to skimp out. Tristan didn't order anything.

The waitress disappeared again, and Ryuuji stirred sugar into his cup before he began to rip the caps off the creamers with almost visceral delight. "Why were you hanging around that bar?"

Tristan's shrugs were almost mechanical now, as if he didn't have any other way to respond. "He liked games…my friend did."

"Right," Ryuuji said, unconvinced. Tristan wasn't much of a talker, which _could_ just be chalked up to personality, but Ryuuji was certain he was hiding something. Good Samaritans don't skulk around in back alleys. Not in the middle of the night. He tasted his coffee and grimaced. Wasn't gourmet, but then again, he wasn't expecting it to be. At this point, anything with caffeine in it was acceptable.

"So tell me," he said. "What do you want from me that I won't give you?"

"I said I didn't want anything,"

"Yet here you are," Ryuuji said. "Buying my dinner."

Tristan didn't protest. Instead, he frowned and tapped his fingers against the tables. "Fine," he said. "You can start with your name."

"You can't be very observant," Ryuuji said. "They were practically shouting it earlier."

"I heard," Tristan said. "And 'Duke Devlin' is the fakest name I've ever heard."

Ryuuji laughed. "I'm hurt. Really."

When Tristan didn't so much as smile, he sighed, spreading his hands expansively. This was a one-time thing, he told himself. "It's Ryuuji. Ryuuji Otogi."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "That sounds even faker than Duke Devlin."

"It's Japanese, dumbass, and you shouldn't care if it's real or not unless you're a cop." Ryuuji took another swig of coffee. "Are you a cop?"

"No."

"Good," Ryuuji glanced at the window. His reflection caught his eye, and he paused. It had smelled like rain earlier. He doubted he'd be able to hitch a ride in the middle of the night anyway. Maybe there was a motel nearby. Or better yet…

"Why is that good?" Tristan asked.

Ryuuji returned his attention to the table. "Doesn't matter," he said briskly, setting his coffee down. "Let's get down to business. Did you want me to sleep with you?"

The force with which Tristan recoiled was impressive. In different circumstances, Ryuuji might have been offended. As it was, he couldn't help laughing. "I guess not."

Clearly uncomfortable, Tristan rolled his eyes to the other side of the restaurant and kept them there, as if even looking at Ryuuji might give him the wrong impression. "Why would you even think that?"

"Let's just say it wouldn't be the first time." Ryuuji paused long enough to smirk across the table when Tristan turned back to him, surprised. Stoic _and_ naïve. "So that rules out my first guess. But you do want me to guess, don't you?" He turned and started to dig through his bag. He pulled out an oversized deck of cards and sat them on the table. "You mind?"

Tristan looked even more uneasy, if that was possible. "What is that?"

"Tarot," Ryuuji said. "You know, fortune-telling?" He hadn't used the cards for much more than picking up chicks in the last few months, but things were getting interesting and this might throw Tristan off his guard enough for Ryuuji to get a better idea of who he was and what he wanted.

"Why?" Tristan said. "That shit's just made-up."

"Not believing in it doesn't mean it isn't real," Ryuuji said. He looked up and paused when he saw Tristan's expression. "Got a problem with that?" He'd occasionally get people who told him he was treating with the Devil by trying to divine the future, but Tristan didn't seem offended, just alarmed.

After a pause that was longer than Ryuuji would have guessed, Tristan gave his head a quick shake. Ryuuji took the rubber band off of the cards. It was his only deck, and months of hitchhiking around the country hadn't done them any good. A few cards were ripped on the sides and caught on each other as he shuffled. But Ryuuji liked it that way. As they aged, each card had taken on their own character until he could tell them apart by touch. There was the Ace of Cups, with the top corner ripped off; the 8 of Wands, crinkled with water damage; the Devil, ripped nearly in half; the Princess of Pentacles, creased neatly down the middle. All of them unique, all of them rich with individual histories.

"It's alright if you don't want me to," Ryuuji said conversationally, with another glance at the window. "Some people don't want to know their futures."

Tristan shrugged, and Ryuuji sucked in a breath. "Well then," he said, sliding the deck toward Tristan. "Draw a card."

Glaring suspiciously across the table, Tristan leaned forward and touched the deck with just the tip of a finger. Almost instantly, he drew his hand back again.

"What's wrong?"

Sullenly, Tristan folded his arms over his chest, leaning back to look at the ceiling.

"Nothing," he said. "Why don't you just do it?"

Bemused, Ryuuji pulled the cards back. "If you want." He flipped the top card over and sat it on the table. Then, smiling, he leaned forward and pretended to study it intensely.

"Hmm." He fell back into the old role easily; it'd really been way too long since he'd done this for someone. Enjoying himself, he folded his hands together and sighed heavily to exaggerate the tension. "Interesting."

"Why is it interesting?" In spite of himself, Tristan had leaned forward to look. Ryuuji flipped the card around so Tristan could see it: two wolves, looking up. Below them, a crawfish. And above?

"Number Eighteen," Ryuuji said. "The Moon."

Tristan sat back. "So?" he said. "What does it mean?"

"It depends," Ryuuji said. "Let's see what else you draw." He held up a hand. "Pick five cards."

"I said you do it."

"It works better if you pick them." That was mostly bullshit on Ryuuji's part, but Tristan's resistance confused him and he wanted to milk this for all it was worth.

Tristan didn't budge. "I don't want to."

Ryuuji narrowed his eyes and ended up drawing the cards himself, laying them out with exaggerated care on the table. Judgment. Five of Wands, Three of Swords, and Seven of Swords. Tristan watched as Ryuuji arranged them in a single line, with The Moon on one end and Judgment on the other.

Tristan rapped his fingers on the table. "So?"

"Shh," Ryuuji said, moving his hand so that it hovered over The Moon. "This card is you, right?" He moved his hand to the Judgment card. "And this is what you want. These-" He gestured to the middle cards. "Represent the path to your goal."

"Okay…"

"The Judgment card is pretty straightforward," Ryuuji said. "It means what it says. You want Judgment, or maybe the new beginning that comes after it. The Moon, on the other hand…"

He glanced up at Tristan. Tristan wasn't watching the cards. He was watching Ryuuji.

"It means fear, or illusion," Ryuuji said. "The subconscious becoming the conscious. It's got a very magical quality to it-" he waved a hand vaguely. This particular card was a little too mystical for even him to explain. "I'm sure it means something to you. These other three cards are Conflict, Heartbreak, and Betrayal." He propped his chin in his hand and grinned up at the man across from him. "Whatever you're trying to get away with," he said. "It won't end well."

"That's a load of bullshit," Tristan said.

Ryuuji only laughed and turned his attention back to the table. He brushed his fingers over the Three of Swords. A heart pierced by three blades. It certainly hadn't been the most optimistic reading he'd ever done.

"Maybe it is," he admitted. "I still don't know what you want from me." He put his hand on the deck.

"Don't," Tristan said, leaning forward. Ryuuji ignored him, picking the top card off the deck and flipping it over as casually as he'd turn the page of a book. He stared at the resulting card for a moment, then up to Tristan. He looked pale, but then again, so did everything under these fluorescent lights. He saw Ryuuji staring and met his eyes. His irises were so dark they could have been black.

The waitress came back with his food, and Ryuuji swept the cards back up into a pile. She glanced at them but didn't ask, just refilled Ryuuji's coffee and left. The omelette was runnier than he'd have liked, and Ryuuji examined his plate before sighing and picking up his fork.

"What was the card?"

"It doesn't matter," Ryuuji said, swallowing. "This food isn't half-bad. You sure you don't want some?"

Tristan shook his head, and the table lapsed into silence. Ryuuji ate quickly. He'd always been a fast eater, but he had another reason: if he was going to find a motel to stay in, he wanted to beat the rain.

"You might as well go pay for this," he told Tristan. "I'm in a hurry."

Without an answer, Tristan slid out of his seat and went to find the waitress. When he was gone, Ryuuji leaned across the table to brush his fingers over the section of plastic where Tristan had been resting his arms. It was cold. Thoughtfully, he leaned back and sipped at his coffee.

By the time Tristan returned, Ryuuji had finished eating and was standing by the table with his bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't ask Tristan to come with him, but neither was he surprised when he was followed outside, where a strong gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance. He zipped his coat up and shivered. Tomorrow was shaping up to be nasty. "Do you know where the nearest motel is?"

"No."

Ryuuji shrugged and settled for guessing. He turned left, away from the alley where he'd met Tristan.

"I do have a car," Tristan said. "If you don't want to walk."

Ryuuji stopped and turned to face Tristan. "Offering me rides now?" he said, grinning. "Don't you think you're moving a little too fast?"

"You're the one asking about a motel," Tristan said.

Caught off guard, Ryuuji stared at Tristan for several seconds before he threw his head back to laugh. "So you do have a sense of humor," he said. "I was getting worried."

The smile he got in return was tight with tension and quickly disappeared as Tristan jerked his thumb in the opposite direction. "I'm parked a few blocks this way."

Even though he was the one who knew where they were going, Tristan insisted on keeping a few steps behind Ryuuji. Ryuuji noticed, but didn't mention it. He had more important questions running through his mind.

"So," he said. "When you're not running around playing the hero, what do you do with your time?"

Tristan took some time to answer. "Same thing as you, I guess."

Ryuuji raised an eyebrow, and then glanced up. He'd thought he felt a raindrop. "You mean you gamble?"

"I mean I stay under the radar."

Ryuuji slowed and turned to face his companion. "What does that mean?"

Tristan looked pleased to have gotten the drop on Ryuuji for once. "You're in some kind of trouble, aren't you? You wouldn't be using a fake name if you weren't."

"Maybe I'm underage."

"That doesn't explain why you're carrying everything you own around with you."

Satisfied, Ryuuji turned back toward the street, playing with the strap of his bag absentmindedly. "Most people own more than this," he said. Then, louder, "Is that all?"

"I saw you by the exit earlier."

Ah, yes. Middle of Nowhere, Oregon, had been as far south as the trucker was willing to take him and he hadn't been able to get another ride out of here. But _here_ was still too cold for Ryuuji, and it was only going to get colder. The proliferation of cops didn't help either; Ryuuji was sure he'd seen some of them side-eyeing him earlier that evening. Being a minority only made him more recognizable, though he was sure the long hair didn't help. He just couldn't bring himself to cut it.

"So since you're just passing through," Ryuuji said. "Where are you going?"

"Domino City. Why?"

"Well, I'm headed south. Since you're going the same direction…"

Tristan's reply was immediate. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You seem like more trouble than you're worth."

Ryuuji didn't contest the point; at least Tristan was perceptive enough to catch _that_. "Fair enough."

Tristan took a deep, exaggerated breath. "Now will you tell me what that card meant?"

"I thought you didn't believe in fortune-telling," Ryuuji said, swinging around to look up again. That had definitely been a raindrop.

"I don't," Tristan said. "But I'm curious."

Ryuuji didn't say anything, and Tristan strode past him to stop next an exhausted orange Toyota Tercel. It looked like someone had once tried to paint over part of it and realized halfway though they had used the wrong kind of paint: a graying peach color plastered the back half of the decrepit vehicle. It didn't look like it would start, much less go anywhere.

"Nice ride," Ryuuji said. "I hope you get paid to drive something that ugly."

"It's not too late for you to walk," Tristan said, unlocking the passenger door and moving around the hood to get in on the driver's side.

The inside of the card was as freezing as it was outside, but Ryuuji didn't comment on it. Nor did he comment on the hideous off-white faux-fur seat covers. "I'm not saying you're wrong about me," he said, returning to their previous conversation. "But I _am_ underage."

Tristan paused, his hands locked around the steering wheel. "How old—"

"Seventeen."

When Tristan didn't reply, Ryuuji laughed, putting a foot up on the dashboard. "I look older, right?" he said. "It's amazing how far you can get with good manners and a false ID."

"But—shouldn't you be in school?"

"Probably." Truancy was the least of his problems.

"So you're—"

"I don't care what you call it," Ryuuji said. "I just figure, one secret's worth another."

"What?"

Ryuuji swerved in his seat to face Tristan. He still hadn't started the car, and Ryuuji's breath ghosted in the frigid air.

Tristan's didn't.

"You keep forgetting to breathe," Ryuuji said bluntly. "And when you do, it sounds forced, like you have to remind yourself to do it."

Tristan tightened his hands around the steering wheel and didn't reply. Ryuuji reached above his head and tilted the rearview mirror down. He knew what to expect, but it was still unnerving to see the mirror reflect nothing but empty space where Tristan was sitting. He swallowed and sat back. He'd first noticed it in the diner. Both the windows and the chrome on the tables had been reflective. "I don't know what you are," he said quietly. "But it sure as hell isn't human."

Tristan said nothing, just watched him, waiting. Ryuuji catalogued his observations so far and made an educated guess. "Would vampire be the right word?"

Slowly, Tristan relaxed his hands. "As good as any," he said. Without looking at it, he pushed the mirror back up into its original position and started the car. "But most people don't believe in that shit."

"Doesn't mean it's not real," Ryuuji said. When Tristan glanced at him, he shrugged. "I grew up around the circus crowd. I've seen all sorts of shit that wasn't supposed to exist. Believe me, this isn't that much of a stretch."

Tristan looked skeptical, but eventually he tore his eyes away from Ryuuji and pulled the car out into the road. "…Right." He seemed more relieved than anything that Ryuuji had figured it out. He stopped pretending to breathe, at least.

They found a motel less than a mile away and Tristan pulled up in front of the main office. He made no move to turn off the car, or to park it. When Ryuuji reached for the door, he purposefully hesitated, but still Tristan waited.

The rain came down in full force now, and Ryuuji sighed. If Tristan wanted to be _stubborn_ about it- "That last card was Seventeen," he said. "The Star."

Slowly, Tristan turned to face him. Ryuuji smiled grimly.

"It means hope."

It was a cheap ploy. Ryuuji didn't care. When Tristan didn't reply, he kept going. "Just thought you'd want to know. And, um…" He played with the door handle. "I know you said it was a bad idea, and I'm not exactly kosher with getting killed, but as long as I don't die-"

"Are you stupid?"

When Ryuuji looked back, startled, he found Tristan glaring at him. "You should be running for your life, not saying shit like that. I don't know how you've stayed alive this long if you're taking risks like that-"

"What do you want me to say?" Ryuuji replied, just as harshly. "I don't know how this whole thing works, but I've got a pretty good feeling you could've killed me at any point tonight and you didn't. You wanted me work it out. Now tell me _why_."

Tristan shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was drained of anger, not to mention every other emotion. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you could."

The patter of the rain on the roof was painfully loud. When Ryuuji didn't say anything, Tristan nodded toward the motel. "Are you going to get out or not?"

Ryuuji narrowed his eyes. "It depends," he said. "Are you going to drive away as soon as I do?"

"I was going to, yeah." There was a pause, and then Tristan said, hesitantly, "But if you want me to stay, I will."

Surprised, Ryuuji studied Tristan, then looked out at the rain. If he wanted, he could sleep here, skip town in the morning, and never think about this incident again. There were more towns, more interesting things-

Well, that was a laugh. He'd probably never come across something so interesting again. And if vampires existed, who knew what else was out there? Was it worth the risk?

Behind him, Tristan was so still he might as well have been a statue. It had bothered Ryuuji throughout the entire meal, how Tristan would sit, motionless, without breathing, simply because he didn't need to. Ryuuji didn't know how vampires were supposed to act, but they should have been at least somewhat predatory. Tristan wasn't even _trying_. It made Ryuuji laugh, and he knew he had made up his mind.

"Wait here," he said. He left his bag in the car and dove through the rain into the motel office.

It took him several minutes to convince the man at the desk to take cash, but Ryuuji had gone through this song and dance several times in the last few months and knew what to say. There was a single, brief moment while he counted out bills where Ryuuji almost took it all back: went out to the car and told Tristan to get the hell out of there. The feeling faded as quickly as it came, but it still made him nervous. He told himself it was just anticipation. This was a game he'd had no experience playing.

When he emerged from the office, he saw that Tristan had parked the Toyota and was standing next to it, staring silently out toward the road. He seemed oblivious to the rain.

The clerk had given Ryuuji two key cards, and he flicked them together with nervous energy as he stood at the edge of the sidewalk. And then Tristan made eye contact with him from across the parking lot, and Ryuuji sighed. Here went nothing.

He ducked out into the rain again and pointed toward the northern end of the building. "My room's up there," he said. "We can talk inside."

Tristan nodded and followed him across the lot to the line of tiny rooms. This place was a dump, but it was cheap, and luxury was hardly at the top of Ryuuji's priorities right now. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking the light on and dumping his duffel bag on the floor.

Shaking excess water off his jacket, he pulled it off and turned to Tristan, who still stood in the doorway. "Close the door already," he said. "You're letting all the heat out."

"Can I come in?"

"Can you-" Ryuuji paused. "Oh." He approached the doorway. "Do you need an invitation?"

A single, terse nod was all he got by way of an answer. Ryuuji grinned.

"Well, isn't this interesting," he said. "I think I like this new development."

"You should be more serious," Tristan said quietly. "I don't know what you think this is, but it's not a game."

"Why?" Ryuuji said. "Am I in mortal danger?" He'd meant it as a joke, but Tristan only stared unblinkingly back at him. He wasn't kidding.

Ryuuji weighed his options. "If I let you in, will I be in more danger?"

A brief, hesitant, pause, then a nod.

Grinning, Ryuuji leaned against the doorframe. While the invisible barrier of the threshold separated them, they were only inches apart. "I don't know…" he said. "You don't seem very _dangerous_."

Tristan's eyes narrowed. "Do you want me to be?"

A small thrill ran up Ryuuji's back. "Maybe."

"Stop messing around."

"First," Ryuuji said. "Tell me why I'm in danger."

Tristan straightened a little, putting a hand on each side of the doorframe to lean toward Ryuuji. "You're not afraid," he said. "The people who aren't afraid, they go first."

"Because they're stupid," Ryuuji said. "I'm not stupid."

"I think you might be."

Ryuuji smiled. "You look tough," he said. "But you've got some massive hero complex. I figure, you probably don't _want_ to hurt me, so I'm as safe with you as I am anywhere else. Maybe safer."

"Is that more of your mumbo-jumbo shit?"

"No," Ryuuji said. "Just basic psychology. Now tell me something I don't know."

"Like what?"

"Why me?"

Tristan's expression clouded with confusion. "What?"

"Why me?" Ryuuji repeated. "I thought at first you wanted blood, but that's not the case, is it? I don't know what you want, but you're still here, so I know there's _something_," he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. "Come on, tell me. What do you need from me that you can't get anywhere else?"

Without meaning to, Ryuuji had leaned a little bit too far forward; it only took a moment for Tristan to grab a fistful of hair and pull him out of the doorway and onto the sidewalk. When Ryuuji raised his arms to push him away, Tristan caught both of them in a viselike grip and slammed Ryuuji against the wall, his skull knocking painfully against the concrete.

Tristan's hands were cold, and Ryuuji stared at him, heart pounding, but Tristan looked annoyed, not angry.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he said evenly. "You asked me to come here, not the other way around. You're messing around with shit you don't understand, and you can't get by on mind games forever."

Ryuuji couldn't decide if he was exhilarated or terrified by this change in behavior. "Why not?"

"Because it pisses me off."

Ryuuji grinned. "Is that all?"

Eyes narrowing, Tristan leaned closer. "You're too smart for your own good," he said. "And you aren't afraid."

"So?"

"So you're dangerous."

Ryuuji raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous to who?"

Tristan's hands relaxed a little, and then pulled away. "That's what I mean." Taking a step back, Tristan shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "Sorry if I hurt you," he said, more quietly. "But I'm not kidding around."

"I'm fine," Ryuuji said. Without moving away from the wall, Ryuuji raised his arms to adjust his ponytail. "Tell you what," he said. "I don't care about whatever shit you're dealing with, but I do want a ride. Take me as far as Domino and I'll return the favor somehow."

"I told you already I don't want anything from you."

"Then give me the ride for free. It's not like I care. Just don't say I didn't offer you anything. If the shit hits the fan, you're on your own."

"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?"

"I try," Ryuuji said lazily, smiling. Tristan could complain all he wanted, but his eyes had only turned darker over the course of this conversation. Ryuuji knew hunger when he saw it. "So, what? You in or not?"

"It's a mistake," Tristan said. "But I can't stop you."

"You could if you wanted."

"I can't." Tristan said flatly. "You're the one who chooses."

The odd way he said it set Ryuuji's nerves on edge, and he started to wonder just how literally Tristan meant "can't".

Tristan glanced up at the sky, but there wasn't much to see beyond darkness. "I've got some things I have to do," he said. "I'll come back in the morning. But if I were you, I'd leave before that."

"Sure," Ryuuji said. He had no intention of leaving and they both knew it. Tristan looked around the parking lot one more time before his gaze returned to rest on Ryuuji.

"It was a good thing, you know," he said, turning to leave. "That you didn't invite me in."

Ryuuji watched him lope through the downpour to his car. "Don't be obvious," he muttered. "I'm not an idiot."

* * *

**O. **_**The Fool: **_In the Major Arcana, _"_The Fool"is the protagonist, the journeyman. He also can symbolize innocence, foolishness, recklessness, etc.

_A/N: I haven't really decided on an update schedule yet. I was thinking a chapter every three days, but I might get bored and do one a day. Either way, I won't be holding chapters hostage for reviews. (But reviews are welcome all the same.)_


	3. The Moon

**2. The Moon**

"_Not knowing when the dawn will come,_

_I open every door."_

— _Emily Dickinson_

Ryuuji was a light sleeper. As someone who'd been on the move all his life, the habit could be disruptive, but over the last few months he'd found it becoming more and more useful. Whether it was sleeping somewhere he shouldn't or a one-night stand born out of necessity, the ability to wake quickly had proved its worth, even when it left him exhausted the rest of the day. At the very least, it meant he was an early riser, even after nights he'd stayed up way too late.

Today was no exception; between the coffee and the adrenaline he hadn't had the most restful night, and after hours of tossing and turning he gave up and let his mind run wild.

He had no idea if Tristan would come back or not. Even if he did, Ryuuji wasn't sure what he'd do. Last night, he'd started to develop serious second thoughts. He knew, intrinsically, that it would be dangerous—that fact, at least, Tristan had managed to get across—but that wasn't the problem. The problem was not knowing what the danger was. He didn't like not knowing.

And that wasn't even the crux of the issue: even if he was conflicted, he knew his decision wouldn't change. _That _was his real problem; he'd let his unchecked curiosity drive all his decisions thus far, and he didn't care. He was entranced by the way that Tristan's eyes went black when he was angry and by his thinly veiled threats about death and dying and danger. Ryuuji could push the threats out of his mind, but those eyes promised something else. So what if it was dangerous? It didn't matter. He trusted his own ability to stay alive, so long as he admitted to himself that he was taking risks, that this sudden impulsive decision was carving a pocket of doubt in his mind.

Awareness is everything.

When the sound of cars starting and doors slamming became increasingly frequent, Ryuuji gave up on sleeping. As it was, he was far more preoccupied with the idea of a hot shower and breakfast. He dragged himself upright, and as soon as his feet touched the carpet, there was a soft knock at the door. He hesitated, confused, but when the second knock came he jumped to his feet and opened the door.

The cold morning air hit his face like a wave as he stared blankly outside. There was no one in the doorway. It took him a minute to see Tristan leaning on the wall beside the door, hands shoved in his pockets. His hair and coat were soaked with rain, but he seemed perfectly comfortable as he twisted his neck to look at Ryuuji.

"Morning," Tristan said. "Looks like you're still here."

"I paid for this room, didn't I?" Ryuuji took another look at Tristan. "How long have you been standing out here?"

"Hour, maybe."

"Just waiting for me to get up?"

Tristan shrugged. Ryuuji couldn't help rolling his eyes. "And here I was expecting a spectacular entrance. Where did you go, anyway?"

"It doesn't really matter." Tristan straightened and turned to face Ryuuji. "Did you still want to come with me?"

"Obviously."

"Well, I'm in a hurry, so you should get moving."

Overnight, Tristan's eyes had changed to a light hazel color. Ryuuji crossed his arms against the cold and grinned. "All right," he said. "Do you want to wait inside?"

For just a moment, Tristan's eyes flicked to the room behind Ryuuji. "Stop with the teasing."

"I'm not teasing." When Tristan's eyebrows inevitably lifted, Ryuuji leaned forward, grinning, as if he was the predator here. "'Teasing' would imply that I don't intend to let you in at all."

Tristan didn't look impressed. Apparently his sense of humor didn't stretch quite that far. Sighing, Ryuuji pulled the door open a bit wider. "_Fine_. Come in."

When he looked up, there was no one in the doorway. Then Tristan spoke, his voice coming not from the front, but behind Ryuuji, in his ear, inches away from his skin.

"I warned you."

The words were accompanied by a waft of cold, dead air brushing against the back of his neck, and Ryuuji spun around so quickly his hair flew in his face and blinded him. "Jesus _fu—"_

He didn't get any farther than that. Tristan slammed a hand against Ryuuji's mouth. "Sorry," he said, "No swearing."

He was laughing. A strange thrill ran down Ryuuji's spine, but he was still plenty pissed. He pushed Tristan away and strode toward the bed, pulling his hair out of his face and digging one-handed through his bag for a hair tie. "The hell was all that? You can't just make a big deal about how _big_ and _dangerous_ you are—"

"You deserved it," Tristan said, showing no signs of remorse. "Anyway, gotta make sure you're on your toes."

"On my-? For God's sake, close the door, it's freezing. And what do you mean, no swearing?"

"What do you think?" Tristan said, turning toward the door. "You just did it again."

Confused, Ryuuji replayed his words in his mind as Tristan pulled the door closed. "Oh," he said. "It's the Christian thing, huh?"

Tristan glared up at him as he flipped the lock. "Or just _say_ it," he muttered. "That works, too."

Ryuuji went to the desk, where he found his jacket and pulled it on. "Well excuse me for not knowing you were so _old-fashioned_," he said. "Do you sleep in a coffin, too?"

"_No_. Don't be stupid. Not all myths are true-"

"Then enlighten me. Which aren't true?"

"Well, the garlic thing. Stake through the heart. Obsessive counting."

"Counting?"

"Some medieval story. There's some weird shit out there."

"Clearly," Ryuuji said. "So if a stake won't do it, how do I kill you? Should I just do some Hail Marys?"

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

Ryuuji couldn't help laughing. "You're not much fun, are you?"

"I don't know," Tristan said. "You seem like you're enjoying yourself."

"Oh, believe me, I am." Ryuuji leaned back against the desk and grinned. "Seriously, though. Does it really bother you?"

Tristan frowned at him and ran a hand over his hair. He looked frustrated with the concept of explaining the finer points of vampire functionality. "Sometimes it does," he admitted. "Sometimes it's just annoying. It's all religions, though. That one's the worst, but it might be because it's so popular. I don't know how it works. I mean, those cards you had yesterday were pretty bad. And that's witchcraft or something."

Ryuuji remembered the way Tristan refused to touch them. "I think it's Jewish, actually."

Tristan opened his mouth to reply by the unmistakeable buzz of a vibrating cellphone. As Ryuuji watched, Tristan reached into his pocket and pulled out the offending item, turning away from Ryuuji to answer it.

"What?" His tone wasn't particularly friendly, but almost immediately he launched into a series of apologies to the person on the other end of the line. "No, sorry, it's just...been a long night." He turned to the door, almost as if he planned to leave, but then he paused. "Yeah, I checked there. No. The town's not that big, someone would have—no. Fine. I will."

He hung up without saying goodbye.

"Who was that?" Ryuuji asked. "One of your vampire friends?"

"We're not friends," Tristan said shortly. "Are you ready to leave?"

There wasn't much to clean up, but there was no way Ryuuji was going anywhere without showering first. "No."

"Then get started. I've got to go check on something. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Before Ryuuji could complain, Tristan had barged out the door and let another blast of cold air into the room. There was nothing for Ryuuji to do but shrug and push the door closed. It wasn't hard to guess, based on their earlier conversation, that Tristan had never found whoever he was looking for yesterday.

He found the mirror and grimaced at his reflection. When _was_ the last time he'd taken a shower? It'd certainly been a few days since he'd slept in a bed. There were times when he wondered if this kind of lifestyle was worth it. Certainly things might be more comfortable in _jail_—

No. This was definitely better. He had a free ride to Domino and a healthy dose of danger in front of him. He didn't even really mind all the secrets; there was nothing Ryuuji liked more than a good puzzle. It helped that once you got past the nervous, overbearing exterior, Tristan seemed like he might be entertaining company. Ryuuji hated to admit it, even to himself, but he looked forward to the drive down. He'd dealt with more than enough assholes to appreciate a good thing when he saw it.

He showered quickly and was sitting on the bed pulling on a pair of socks when Tristan came barging back through the door. Apparently he only needed the one invitation. Ryuuji briefly considered telling him to leave, just to see what would happen, but Tristan swung past him without a second glance to sit at the table and pick up the hotel telephone.

"Well, hello to you, too," Ryuuji said, disgruntled. "Find what you were looking for?"

Tristan ignored his questions. "Are you ready to go?"

"What? No. And what are you doing?"

Tristan was already punching in numbers. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"What happened to the cell phone?"

"Battery died."

"So charge it-"

"Left it at home."

Convenient. "Well don't use that one, I don't want to pay for your calls."

Tristan kept dialing. Rubbing a towel over his wet hair, Ryuuji decided that he'd be out of the room before the hotel could try to charge him and waited to see who Tristan was calling. To his disappointment, Tristan began his conversation without introduction. "I just—no, it's a hotel phone." Pause. "Forget that-I checked again. There's no sign of him anywhere."

He paused. "I don't think so. He didn't seem like the type." Another pause. "Yeah, I did. I just said, he wouldn't do that—I know!" He slammed a hand against the table. "I'm not messing around, Bakura, he's not there!"

Ryuuji stood up and leaned on the wall by the desk, and Tristan spun around to glare at him. Without taking his eyes off Ryuuji, he kept speaking into the phone, his voice significantly muted. "Yeah, I know. I just think—Oh. Y-yeah. Sometime tonight. It'll probably be late."

The person on the other line spoke, and no matter how much Ryuuji strained to hear, he couldn't make out the words. But it sounded like a male voice. He couldn't be sure. "Bakura" was unlike any name he'd heard before.

"No reason," Tristan said. "That's just how long it takes." Pause. "No! Would you—"

There was an audible click, and Tristan slowly leaned forward to put the phone back. He was clearly frustrated with the way that conversation had gone, but Ryuuji didn't let that stop him. "Who's Bakura?"

"Don't you have something better to do than eavesdrop on me?"

"No. Do you have to do what he says?"

"No—!"

"You're a horrible liar," Ryuuji said. "Is he a vampire too?"

"Would you stop? Why aren't you ready to go yet? You know it's gonna take like ten hours to get there, right?"

"I know." Ryuuji turned away from Tristan and toward the bathroom sink, where he studied his reflection. With weather this cold, there was no way he was going out with wet hair. Just one more reason he should cut it. "But why do we have to make the whole trip in one day?"

"Why—? You know I'm doing you a _favor_, right? If you don't get your ass into gear, I'm just going to leave you here."

"Really? I was under the impression you _couldn't_ turn me down."

"I can if you're going to slow me down."

Ryuuji turned back to look at Tristan, who quirked an eyebrow. He wasn't lying. Ryuuji sighed. "Fine," he said. "Give me ten minutes."

An extravagant sigh from Tristan made it clear that he was pushing his luck, but he dropped the subject and stood up. "I'll go put gas in the car. Be ready by the time I get back."

Ryuuji didn't turn to watch him go. "Close the door this time."

In terms of general hygiene, Ryuuji didn't have room for much more than a comb and a toothbrush, and hotel blow-dryers were his favorite amenity. It only took him a few minutes to dry his hair completely, but the warmth was a welcome change from the rest of the room and he drew the process out. It was only by chance that he heard it. He turned around and switched off the dryer.

The telephone was ringing.

It only took Ryuuji a moment to make a decision. He slid into the desk chair and picked up the receiver. Immediately he was met with a barrage of words.

"Took you long enough, dammit! I thought you'd left already. I just checked the public records and they were definitely involved. You'd better get out of there fast—"

"I'm sorry, Bakura," Ryuuji said smoothly. "Tristan's out right now. Care to leave a message?"

There was a long pause on the other end.

"Who the hell is this?"

"You're the one who called _my_ hotel room. If you don't mind, I have a few questions—"

"Wait, is Tristan with you?"

"Like I said, he went out—"

"No. I mean, is he _with_ you?"

Ryuuji hesitated. "Sure." When you needed to get an idea of your opponent's hand, throwing a trump card out right off the bat was usually enough to do the trick. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"With Tristan."

Bakura laughed. To say that the sound was chilling was an understatement: it made Ryuuji seriously reconsider his decision to pick up the phone. "Well, aren't _you_ forward?" he said. "I suppose it would be more accurate to say that Tristan is with me."

Undeterred, Ryuuji pressed on. "Are you a vampire, too?"

"He's told you about _that_ too? This is hilarious. Are you traveling together?"

"For the moment."

"Is that so?" Bakura asked. His voice lowered. "And where is he taking you?"

Before Ryuuji could open his mouth to answer, he felt the phone being snatched out of his hands. Tristan towered over him, putting his hand over the receiver and leaning forward to hiss at Ryuuji.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Answering the phone," Ryuuji said. On the other line, he could hear Bakura laughing. Tristan glared at him and pressed the phone to his ear. Because of the phone cord, he had to lean over Ryuuji's chair to listen comfortably, and no matter how much he glared Ryuuji wasn't going to budge. He was in the perfect position to overhear the entire conversation.

"_Why wouldn't you tell me you had a human with you, Tristan? It's not like you to keep secrets."_

"It wasn't a secret," Tristan said. "I didn't think it was important."

"_Which just goes to show how much of an idiot you still are," _Bakura's tone turned serious._ "But perhaps it's for the best. It looks like I was right about Yugi—the Ishtars got to him first. You need to get out of there."_

Tristan tensed, but his voice was carefully controlled. "I understand."

"_One more thing,"_ Bakura said. _"This human—is he free?"_

Slowly, Tristan looked down and met Ryuuji's eyes. Ryuuji didn't move, even though he wanted to shrink away. _That_ didn't sound good.

"Not anymore."

After a moment, Ryuuji heard the click that meant Bakura had hung up. Tristan leaned forward to put the phone back and then turned to Ryuuji.

"You shouldn't have done that."

He sounded more resigned than angry, and Ryuuji sensed that whatever damage Tristan had tried to avert, it was irrevocable.

"Well, I did," he said, refusing to play guilty. "And what did you mean, I'm not free?"

Tristan put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back against the chair. "I meant," he said. "That I'm gonna have to think of a damn good excuse to let you go, and if you want to stay alive, you better do whatever the hell I say." He paused, studying Ryuuji's expression. "I warned you," he added, more gently. "But you didn't believe me. And don't expect me to help you, because—"

"You can't, I know." Ryuuji pushed Tristan away. Close proximity to a vampire seemed to have an intoxicating effect; every time Tristan got confrontational, his heart started pounding. He felt the beginning of a headache coming on. He needed to be able to think. "What kind of excuse do you mean?"

"Don't worry about that," Tristan said heavily. "I'll take care of it. Just don't-don't mess around with anything else." He straightened and looked around the room for the first time. He was obviously chagrined at Ryuuji's lack of progress. "You're not even packed."

"It'll only take a minute." Ryuuji leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Who's Yugi? And who are the Ishtars?"

Tristan ignored him and went to the window. Ryuuji rolled his eyes. "Look, just because you're mixed up in some supernatural shit doesn't mean I don't have the right to know what's going on. I'm just as involved in this now as—"

"Shut up." Tristan said. He glanced back at Ryuuji. "Look, just—" He grabbed Ryuuji's duffel bag and shoved it into his unwilling arms. "Just pack. We've only got a few minutes."

"A few minutes before _what_?" Ryuuji tossed the duffel bag onto the bed and shoved in the few things that he'd taken out over the course of the night. To save space, he pulled a thin sweatshirt on over his t-shirt and put his jacket on over that, the familiar weight of the gun on the inside pocket thumping against his chest.

Tristan never answered Ryuuji; he was staring out the window again. "Shit!" he said, pulling the curtain open a little wider to get a better view. "I knew you were taking too long-"

"What now?" Zipping up his jacket, Ryuuji joined Tristan at the window. He couldn't see anything of interest, but he followed the direction of Tristan's gaze and realized that he was watching the progress of a large black van on the far side of the parking lot. "What is that?"

"Get out of the window," Tristan said, pushing Ryuuji aside. He glanced around the room. "Are you ready to go?"

"Well I have to get my deposit—"

"Leave it. They don't know you're here, so I'm going to draw them away from the building. I want you to wait a few minutes and then take the car—you can drive, right?—then go down to that strip by the freeway—"

"The one where the casino is?" He'd only been in this town a day, but he'd noticed _that_. Hard not to.

"Yeah. Park somewhere and wait there. They haven't seen you, you should be safe. Wait there for me. If I don't show within the hour—" Tristan shrugged. "Well, it won't matter what you do at that point."

"Aren't you worried I'll just take the car and split?"

Tristan gave him an odd look. "Will you?"

"No—"

Ryuuji was stepping back when Tristan's hand closed over his wrist.

"What are you—"

"You shouldn't have said that." Slowly, Tristan's thumb pushed the cuff of the jacket up and pressed down over the vein that pulsed there. Ryuuji took a sharp breath. Tristan's skin felt like ice.

"If I thought you were lying, I'd _have_ to make things more certain," Tristan said, his eyes searching. "I'm going to trust you instead. For _your_ sake. Got it?"

The pressure around his wrist increased, and Ryuuji was finding it difficult to breathe. "Yeah."

Tristan's expression relaxed, and he pushed his car keys into Ryuuji's hand before letting go. "Good." His smile wasn't reassuring, but Ryuuji hardly noticed, because the lights were dimming. The shadows in the room suddenly seemed to focus around Tristan, who proceeded to disappear in front of Ryuuji's eyes, his features fading and melting into the shadows so quickly it was hard to believe he had been there to begin with. It was over as quickly as it had started. Ryuuji rubbed his wrist and stared at the empty space where Tristan had just been standing. "Holy shit," he said under his breath. "What the hell was that?"

He didn't have time to meditate on his choices. Moments later, a squeal of tires, closely accompanied by a gunshot, drew Ryuuji's attention. Resisting his first impulse to look out the window, he went instead to the phone.

Moving quickly, he punched in 911 and then sat down, pulling on his shoes and waiting for the dispatcher to pick up. When she did, he spoke quickly, putting conscious effort into sounding rattled. "Hi, um, I'm staying in that motel off of 12th and the main drag. Lake-Lake something. Boulevard, maybe? There are people shooting guns outside. I think it's some kind of gang war."

The dispatcher reassured him that a police force would be on its way shortly and Ryuuji hung up before she could ask for his name. He'd be gone long before the police got there, but there were sure to be other people around who could act as witnesses. If it didn't slow down their pursuers, at least Ryuuji could appreciate the irony of calling the police when they were the one group he was trying to avoid.

He hadn't heard any more gunshots, and a quick glance out the window proved that the van was gone. Ryuuji grabbed his duffel bag and headed out. He _almost_ went to the front desk so he could retrieve his deposit, but in the end he took Tristan's advice and left it. He had enough to get by for a few days.

The Toyota was parked on the street, and once he got inside it took Ryuuji a few minutes to get the grasp of the controls. He could _technically _drive, but he'd thrown out his driver's license when he first went on the run. Tristan hadn't asked, and Ryuuji didn't care. As long as he didn't get pulled over, everything would be fine. It wasn't as if he was a _bad_ driver.

License or no, it didn't take him long before he found a dingy old restaurant near the freeway entrance and parked outside. He considered going in for a something to eat or at least a cup of coffee, but he had no idea when Tristan would be coming back and he didn't want to risk being caught unprepared. So he crossed his arms, leaned back into the seat, and closed his eyes.

There were questions. There hadn't been time to address them in the rush of the moment, but now they rampaged freely through his mind. Who was Bakura? What had happened to Yugi and why? More importantly, what else was Tristan hiding? Ryuuji was starting to decide that his initial judgment of the situation had been way off—he'd never considered that Tristan might be answering to someone else, or that there might be multiple, apparently supernatural, factions at war with each other. That complicated things.

There was also the very strong possibility that Ryuuji himself was in mortal danger. Tristan, at least, seemed convinced that Ryuuji wouldn't live out the day.

Ryuuji didn't blame him. Obviously he wasn't going to be able to trust his own decisions where Tristan was concerned. _Something_—he wasn't sure what—was affecting his judgment. He knew his own weaknesses, and this went beyond simple curiosity. Maybe it was supernatural. Maybe it was sexual. Ryuuji didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care. Either way it was a problem. He'd just have to be more careful from now on.

The parking lot had emptied out as the minutes passed. Tapping his fingers on the doorframe, Ryuuji stared out the window. This was problematic. The less people there were, the easier it would be for Tristan to find him, but the more he would stand out. It didn't help that this car was already as ugly as hell.

To pass the time, he leaned over and pulled open the glove compartment. Nothing but the driver's manual and a sheaf of papers. He put the manual back and flipped through the documents. Car registration, insurance information. He was surprised to find that the car wasn't owned by Tristan himself. Everything was in the name of Ryou Bakura. Another Japanese name. Yugi's name, too. Maybe this was some kind of gang thing, although the concept of a vampire _yakuza_ seemed too farfetched for even Ryuuji to accept.

He was leaning over to look for more paperwork when something heavy hit the roof of the car. Ryuuji sat up, hand rising to the gun at his chest, and then Tristan appeared outside the passenger side window, pulling the door open and sliding into the seat in one clumsy, albeit incredibly fast, movement.

"Drive," he said, his voice hollow. If he had been pale before, he was ashen now, his eyes sunken and pure black. With a start Ryuuji realized what that meant: Tristan needed blood. The idea might have been foreign to him, but it was no less urgent, and he hastily folded the papers in his hands and shoved them between the seats, starting the car and swearing when he let off the clutch too early and killed the engine. He restarted the car, acutely aware of the way Tristan watched his every movement with unbridled intensity. Finally he got the car out of the parking lot and hesitated, not sure of where he was supposed to go.

Tristan sensed his confusion. "Freeway."

Ryuuji drove, accelerating onto the road at what was sure to be an illegal speed, glancing around frantically for the cause of Tristan's urgency. "Where are they? What happened?"

Tristan didn't answer. He was sagging against the window, the muscles in his shoulders and jaw tensed with pain.

There was a truck behind them, a big white one that disrupted his view, and Ryuuji looked desperately from the rearview mirror to Tristan to the road. "Tell me something!" he said. "Are you okay?" He saw the warning for an upcoming freeway exit and a new worry entered his mind. "Do they know where we're going?"

"It doesn't matter." Tristan muttered. "Just head south."

Ryuuji swerved the Toyota between lanes and around a car that was going too slow for his taste and received several honks in return. If there were any policemen around, he was screwed.

The traffic slowed unexpectedly once he got on the freeway, and Ryuuji swore when he realized why. "Who puts a toll bridge someplace like this?"

"What?" Tristan's head shot up as he stared at Ryuuji in dismay. "Shit."

"I know," Ryuuji said. "This is going to take forever."

"No, I—dammit. I forgot about the bridge!"

"What?"

"I can't cross running water!"

Ryuuji nearly slammed on the brakes. "Are you kidding me?" If Tristan had been planning on going to Domino in the first place, he had to know about this river. It ran all along the southern edge of town.

"Not like this!" Tristan said. "Not during the day!" He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Dammit, I knew there was a reason I wanted to leave last night—"

"Don't pin this on me!" Ryuuji peered around for a place to turn, but the opposite lanes were blocked by concrete barriers. There _was_ a thin shoulder barely wide enough to fit a car, but pulling over wouldn't solve their problem. "What do I do?"

Tristan closed his eyes and leaned back to think, allowing Ryuuji to see for the first time the bloodied hole in his shirt just below his shoulder. Even though Ryuuji knew next to nothing about vampire physiology, the amount of blood he saw was alarming, especially considering Ryuuji didn't know that vampires even had blood to begin with.

Tristan opened his eyes and saw Ryuuji's expression. He smiled painfully. "Don't worry," he said. "It was just a gun."

"'Just'?" Ryuuji said. The traffic had come to a near standstill, the toll bridge looming in the foreground. There were approximately seven cars ahead of them. "How are you not eating me alive right now?"

"Self control, I guess," Tristan said. Ignoring Ryuuji's startled glance, he stared grimly at the bridge. "We can't go back. I'll have to make do with the tollman."

Ryuuji's stomach turned. "The hell you will," he said. "Aren't we being followed? It's going to be obvious if you kill someone."

"Well, it's him or you!" Tristan said. Despite his harsh tone, his body was unnaturally still, disrupted by an occasional tremor that revealed just how weak he really was. "I _can't_ just wait. I don't have a choice."

Ryuuji had to agree. They couldn't do anything to attract attention at this point—Tristan looked like death incarnate and it didn't help that Ryuuji was _technically _a fugitive of the law. A trail of bodies would be anything but helpful. "What if we pull over?" he asked hopefully. "I can—"

"No time," Tristan said. There were two cars ahead of them now, with guardrails on either side. Beyond that, the bridge. There would be a place to turn around there, but what then? He turned to Ryuuji. "I'm really sorry, but it has to be this."

One car. Tristan started to sit up and brace himself for movement. Ryuuji looked forward. He could see the person in the tollbooth from where he sat. A middle-aged woman with red hair and glasses. She smiled at the car in front of them as money exchanged hands.

Ryuuji slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and swore.

"You wouldn't kill me," he said.

"It can't be you," Tristan said immediately. "Even if you didn't die—"

"I don't want you to kill her!"

Tristan stared at Ryuuji. Ryuuji took a shaking breath and continued, trying to sound casual. "If it's me," he said. "You won't leave any tracks."

There was an edge to Tristan's voice that might have been panic. "You don't understand—"

The car ahead of them pulled away, and Ryuuji clenched his hand around the gear shift. "Trust me," he said. "Please."

Then they were at the toll booth, and Ryuuji turned away to roll down his window and greet the woman, hoping fervently that Tristan wouldn't move, wouldn't do anything to endanger either of them.

"Hey," he said, grinning up at her as he reached for his wallet. "One dollar, right?"

She smiled back, the expression so broad it stretched over her entire face. "That's right, honey."

Without looking, Ryuuji counted out four quarters before holding his hand out to her outstretched one.

"Have a nice day," she said.

"You too," Ryuuji said. He leaned down to roll up the window.

"Ryuuji-"

The way Tristan said his name scared him, but he didn't reply. He moved quickly, slamming on the gas and getting the car into the highest gear. He used his teeth to pull the sleeve of his jacket, and the sweatshirt underneath, halfway up his forearm before thrusting his bare wrist toward Tristan.

"You're probably going to have to take over driving," he said evenly. "I mean, if it's anything like the movies. But I'll hold out as long as I can."

He knew Tristan wanted to protest, but there was no time. They were already over water and Ryuuji was driving the car as fast as he could. So he tapped on the gas one more time and braced his feet against the floor of the car, putting all his effort into keeping his eyes on the road and avoiding other cars as he felt Tristan grab hold of his arm with bruising strength.

It hurt like hell at first, because Tristan was so desperate and there was no time to be neat about it. Ryuuji wasn't looking—he didn't dare—but it felt like Tristan had to take more than one bite to get the blood flowing quickly enough. Gritting his teeth, Ryuuji braced himself against the seat and against the steering wheel and watched the knuckles in his left hand slowly turn white. He wondered vaguely if it was from pressure or from blood loss, and focused on his knuckles and on the road until it started.

He hadn't asked Tristan about the mechanics of feeding on people; even if there had been time, he doubted Tristan would have answered him. Logically, Ryuuji had expected some magical element, some sort of hypnosis that kept the victims of vampires from feeling pain, but it wasn't so much a dulling of the senses as it was a heightening. He could still feel the acute pain of Tristan's teeth digging into his skin, the uncomfortable cold roughness of his fingers, the stale recycled air from the air vents against his face.

Yet the pain didn't matter, because it lacked all the immediate urgency that Ryuuji was used to. It was there, but it hid behind a hurricane of adrenaline and endorphins that never plateaued but sat, roiling, in his lungs and pulse until the road in front of him blurred into a dark sky and even darker road. But Tristan's hunger was more important and more immediate than Ryuuji's pleasure, and even as he lost control Ryuuji clenched his jaw and held on tighter, trying to keep control of the car for as long as possible. It was hard, one of the hardest things he'd ever done, to stay conscious while his vision kept blacking out, violent spasms jerking him back against the seat, his will fading as he lost the ability to distinguish the road from the horizon.

The stabbing pain in his wrist was all that kept him conscious, and Ryuuji focused on that until all at once there were clouds rising up on either side of them and Tristan was leaning against him to take the wheel, his skin almost warm against Ryuuji's, and then there was nothing.

* * *

_**XVIII. The Moon**__: _The Moon is a mystic symbol. It can mean the subconscious or illusion, anxiety or disillusionment. It often represents the muddled view we get of things when we only have the light of the moon to see by.


	4. The Hanged Man

**3. The Hanged Man **

"_The best skill at cards is knowing when to discard." _

— _Baltasar Gracián_

Everything was too bright. Too bright and too cold.

Ryuuji forced his eyes open and found himself blinded by a thousand lances of sunlight; immediately he closed them again, observations floating through his mind in a meandering, decelerated haze. The sheer _brilliance_ of everything made him think he'd woken up facing the sun, which didn't make sense, because the sun shouldn't be that low at this time of day. The sun shouldn't be out at all, unless they'd somehow escaped the dense fog of the Cascade Range. But then where were they? He distantly recollected his memories: they were on the run, and Tristan was dying or something—he'd needed blood. And Ryuuji had decided to go for it.

That settled it. He was _definitely _out of his right mind.

Still, he reflected, he was alive. Felt way too shitty to be dead, anyway.

It took him a few minutes to muster up the energy to open his eyes again and look around. The sun was still in front of him, but he found if he tilted his head just a little to the left, it was blocked by the frame of the car. Okay. So he was still in the Toyota. It must have been parked in the middle of nowhere-at first he couldn't hear anything at all, but momentarily he picked up on the faint howl of wind. His view didn't help much; without turning his head too far, Ryuuji could make out the telltale yellow lines in the road and the metal guardrails beyond that. In the other direction, the driver's seat was unoccupied, and past that was what he assumed was some kind of cliff. And trees. A lot of trees.

They were at some kind of scenic viewpoint: the kind they made for tourists and smokers and anyone else who needed an excuse to pull over. Judging by the position of the sun, it had to be late afternoon.

Ryuuji wanted to sit up, but his body wasn't cooperating. Even small movements were strenuous, and the air felt stale and thick, as if he was breathing through a blanket. In hopes of finding the lever that lifted the seat, Ryuuji thrust his right wrist between the seat and the door. Big mistake. As a searing pain shot through his arm, Ryuuji swore violently and pulled his arm back to examine it. A bandana—one of his own—was wrapped tightly around his wrist. Maybe too tight. His hand looked pale, even considering everything it had gone through, and the ends of his fingers tingled from poor circulation. He kept the arm still long enough for the pain to fade before he tried to pull the bandana loose, but the knots were impossible to undo one-handed.

Irritated and exhausted, he leaned back into the seat and waited. He had no idea where Tristan was, but even if Ryuuji had been abandoned by the roadside, he didn't see much of a point in doing anything about it. He was half-asleep when he heard the car door opening and then slamming shut again.

"Where were you?" he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

Tristan didn't answer; instead he leaned over and brushed the hair out of Ryuuji's face. The tentative nature of the gesture, not to mention its sheer unexpectedness, was enough to jolt Ryuuji awake as he turned to stare.

Tristan's eyes weren't black anymore, but they were darker than they were this morning-more of a dark russet brown. Looking at him, Ryuuji found it easier to breathe. He wouldn't have thought twice about it until he realized that the pain in his hand was fading. _That_ was suspicious. But hell, even if it was suspicious, he was too exhausted to do anything about it.

"You're a complete idiot," Tristan finally said, dropping his hand. He had the collar of his coat pulled up around his neck, and he rubbed his palm against his jaw as he leaned back into the driver's seat. He looked as exhausted as Ryuuji felt. "I thought you were going to die on me."

Slowly, Ryuuji mustered up the energy to grin. "Is that your way of saying thank you?"

"I'm saying sorry. You shouldn't have done that."

"I saved your life."

"Yeah." Tristan didn't sound grateful. "I shouldn't have listened to you," he said. "I knew this would happen."

"Shut it," Ryuuji said. "I didn't die. It's fine."

Tristan's voice was quiet as he stared out at the road. "No, it's not."

Ryuuji shook his head, slowly. By the end of the day they would be in Domino, and as far as he was concerned, that would be the end of this. Unless-

"Wait," he said. "Don't tell this means—I'm not going to—?" Being bitten by a vampire was one thing. Being _turned _into one, on the other hand, was not on the bucket list.

"No." Tristan's fingers flexed around the steering wheel. "That's not what I meant. I couldn't do something like that."

"Then what did you mean?"

Tristan started the engine and didn't answer him.

"Tristan."

"Go back to sleep."

Ryuuji didn't want to sleep. He'd already slept all day and had way too many questions to waste time by passing out again. But as he opened his mouth to protest, he felt his eyelids growing heavy, his thought process slowing as he realized he couldn't remember what he had wanted to ask. Despite his best effots, he closed his eyes. He was unconscious almost instantly.

When he woke up next, groggy with exhaustion, the sun really _was_ setting. Unsteadily, he turned to glance out the window. They were in one of those impossibly tiny little towns, the kind made up of little more than a gas station and a corner store. He could see Tristan standing outside the latter in a phone booth.

Even that small movement made his head hurt. Sensing an imminent migraine, Ryuuji used his left hand to move the chair to an upright position, gasping when the sudden change made him dizzy. He closed his eyes and rode it out, noticing that once again his breathing problems had returned. He had no doubt it was connected to Tristan somehow. He also had no doubt that Tristan had somehow made him fall asleep. _Bastard_.

Wanting to conserve energy, he relaxed into the seat and picked at the bandana around his wrist. It wasn't _too_ tight, at least the circulation seemed to have improved some, but it was uncomfortable enough to annoy him. He wanted to assess the damage for himself. Tristan seemed like a nice guy, but that didn't mean Ryuuji trusted him, especially after that little mind-control stunt.

When Tristan returned to the car, he had a grocery bag with him.

"What is that?"

"For you." Tristan pulled some kind of energy drink out of the bag, snapping off the lid before handing it to Ryuuji. "Drink this."

Ryuuji took it, even though he hated these kinds of drinks. He hadn't eaten all day and he'd take what he could get. "Who were you talking to?"

"Someone I—"

"Bakura?"

Tristan gave Ryuuji a warning look, but Ryuuji matched his gaze. At this point, there was no way he was going to let Tristan get away with leaving him in the dark. Finally Tristan shrugged helplessly.

"Asking questions isn't going to help you," he said. "But yeah. I was letting him know where we were."

"And where are we?" Ryuuji started to regret raising the seat. Even lifting the bottle was taxing. At least with Tristan back in the car, he was breathing easier, though it hadn't helped the headache.

"Central Valley. We should get to Domino sometime around midnight."

Slow progress. They must have pulled over multiple times while Ryuuji was asleep. "Who is he to you? Bakura, I mean."

He didn't really expect a response, but when he didn't get one, he pressed harder. "Come on. You _owe_ me."

Tristan must have agreed, because after a long pause, he slouched down into the seat and said softly, "You know I can't tell you any of that."

"Well, you've got to be able to tell me _something_. Like, I don't know. How long have you known him?"

"...Eight years."

Ryuujij nodded and took another sip from the bottle. Drinking it was starting to make him realize how hungry he really was. "So you were a kid?"

"I was eighteen."

Ryuuji paused. Tristan didn't look much older than that already. "Ah," he said. "So that's when you—"

"Don't ask," Tristan interrupted. "Seriously. There's no point."

Ryuuji settled for another, simpler, question. "Can you turn the heat on?"

"Oh, sorry." Tristan reached into his pockets for his keys. A blast of warm air instantly flooded the car as he started the engine, and Ryuuji wondered if the heater had been running all day. Even if it had, it wasn't helping at all; Ryuuji was still freezing. This vampire thing wasn't half as fun as it had originally sounded. Unable to do much about it, he chose to address a different problem. He lifted his arm and examined the bandana critically.

"You made this way too tight." he said.

"It was that or bleed to death," Tristan said, putting the car in reverse and pulling them back out onto the road. They weren't on the freeway anymore, but a two-lane highway.

Sensing that Tristan wasn't going to offer to untie the bandana for him, Ryuuji started picking at the knots again. The sunset reflected off the cliff-sides in gold and bronze tones that should have made Ryuuji feel warmer but didn't. He forced himself to swallow the rest of the energy drink before reaching for the grocery bag and pulling it into his lap. Cookies. Candy. Trail mix. The kinds of things they give you after you donate blood. While Ryuuji appreciated the irony, he doubted it would help.

"They didn't have any vegetables or anything," Tristan said, seeing his expression. "But that should tide you over until we get to Domino. There are vitamins in there, too. Make sure to take some of those."

Reassured that Tristan at least _seemed_ to know what he was talking about, Ryuuji selected the trail mix and tore the bag open with his teeth. "What's in Domino, anyway?"

Tristan tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He seemed to struggle with an answer. "I live there."

"With Bakura?" Ryuuji looked over at his companion. He was surprised to see that Tristan looked nervous as he nodded. Thoughtfully, Ryuuji used two fingers to dig out some of the M&Ms. Whoever Bakura was, Ryuuji was willing to bet that he was the bad guy.

"I have a question," he said. "About him."

"I told you, I can't—"

"That thing you wanted me to do," Ryuuji said. "The reason you let me come with you. It has to do with him, right?"

"I never wanted—"

"Can it," Ryuuji said tiredly. This conversation was more taxing than he'd have liked to admit. "I know this isn't just about convenience."

Tristan stilled. When he spoke again, he sounded resigned. "Don't worry about that," he said. "My reasons doesn't matter anymore."

Recognizing Tristan's tone as the same one he'd used when he'd told Ryuuji to go to sleep, he grew wary. "You were saying something like that earlier," he accused. "Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is."

"Please don't ask," Tristan said, looking pained. "I'm trying to think of a way to get around it, but—"

"Get around what?"

"It's Bakura—he'll want to use you—I have to convince him somehow that you aren't useful."

"What, being half dead doesn't count?"

"I wish. I thought about taking you to the hospital, but he'll just wait for you to be released."

Ryuuji frowned. "I'm not going to a hospital."

"It might give you enough time to—"

"I said no," Ryuuji said. "Anything that involves the law is out."

"Why?" Tristan turned to face him. "You're just a runaway, right? That can't be worse—"

"Yes it can," Ryuuji said flatly. "If you take me to a hospital, they'll arrest me on the spot."

To Ryuuji's horror, Tristan looked relieved at the news. "That's perfect," he said. "Bakura won't—"

"I said no."

Only the strength of Tristan's grip on the steering wheel indicated his frustration. "You don't understand what will happen—"

"I don't care," Ryuuji said. "No hospital. Besides," he sighed. "I don't need it. I'm already feeling better."

Wordlessly, Tristan reached across the dashboard to flip down the mirror above Ryuuji's seat, letting him see the damage for himself.

He was almost unrecognizable. Even bathed in the light of the setting sun, Ryuuji's skin was pale, the yellowed tones of the sunset casting shadows on hollows that hadn't been there before. The hair around his face was damp-he hadn't realized he'd been sweating-and even by generous standards he couldn't pass for healthy.

"Shit," he said. He raised a shaking hand to push the hair out of his eyes, but Tristan reached across the seat again and flipped the mirror back up.

"Did you think I was kidding when I said you almost died?" he said. "You still might. You don't get a say this time."

"Bakura can't be that—"

"Yes," Tristan said tersely. "He can."

Ryuuji leaned back into the seat and thought about his options. He didn't want to consider either one. He'd figure out some other way of getting out of this. He'd only planned on going as far as Domino with Tristan, and that was still his plan. There had to be another angle to this. Things were never just black and white.

"You never told me who was chasing you," he said.

Tristan grunted unintelligibly, and Ryuuji smiled.

"Come on," he said. "I saved your life. That ought to count for something."

"Not much," Tristan said bitterly, but after a long pause, he added, "They were vampire hunters."

Ryuuji wanted to laugh, considering the circumstances. _Of course _it'd be something like that. Just one more problem on top of this whole mess.

"What did they want?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," Ryuuji said, letting his exasperation get the best of him. "Why don't you tell me?"

Tristan didn't rise to his bait. "You shouldn't talk so much."

"I wouldn't have to…" A particularly strong wave of dizziness kept him from finishing his sentence. It was so abrupt it made him certain that Tristan was somehow manipulating him. He quieted, waited for it to fade, and when it did, he kept talking, albeit more cautiously. "Just answer the question properly, and I won't have to say anything. Right?" He closed his eyes and slumped back into the seat in a gesture that would have been exaggerated if he wasn't so exhausted already. "Look," he said. "I'm resting. Now spill."

"…I was right, you know."

"Hm?"

"You're more trouble than you're worth."

"Ah, but I make up for it with my charm," Ryuuji cracked open an eyelid and was rewarded by to see the hint of a smile flash across Tristan's face. "And changing the subject won't work on me, by the way."

For several seconds all Ryuuji heard was the tap of fingers against the steering wheel. "Fine," Tristan said. "But I don't actually know that much about them. All I know is they're some ancient Egyptian family, and they've been trying to wipe us out for ages. They've got these, um, magical artifacts that they use. The Millennium Items. And…"

He trailed off. When he started talking again, it was quieter. "About fifteen years ago, one of their Items was stolen. By a vampire. And since then he's killed a lot of people. Almost the entire Ishtar family. Things have only gotten worse since then. A lot of— a lot of people have died."

When he lapsed into silence, Ryuuji waited a minute or two before he shifted his position a little and turned to look out the window.

"You really hate it, don't you?" he asked, watching the lines in the road flash by. "Being like this?"

Tristan didn't answer the question. Ryuuji closed his eyes again. He'd pressed too hard and now Tristan wanted him to shut up. He still had questions, but he didn't have the energy to ask them nor the mental capacity to understand the answers. His headache had come back with full force, and he didn't know what else to do beyond try to sleep it off. Even now, blackness was swimming in circles behind his eyelids. Ryuuji let the blackness swallow him. He knew something now, and it was enough for him to start forming the beginnings of a plan.

When he woke up again, the car had stopped and Tristan was talking to him. It took effort to focus on what Tristan was saying, and Ryuuji struggled for a few moments before he caught the tail end of a question. Not wanting to put forth the effort required to sit up, much less open his eyes, he mumbled "What?" and tried to listen this time.

"We're in Domino. I'm going to take you to a hospital, but you have to walk in by yourself. Do you think you can manage that?"

Hazily Ryuuji remembered their earlier conversation and forced himself to focus. "I'm not going to a hospital," he mumbled. He felt like he could use one. His heart was pounding in a way that couldn't be normal. How had he somehow gotten worse over the course of the day?

"You have to." Tristan said. He sounded irritated. Probably because it was pretty clear that Ryuuji wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "You're going to die if you—"

"I'm not going to die," Ryuuji said, opening his eyes to glare at Tristan. "I'll be fine."

"Look, I'm trying to _protect_ you—"

"_No_, you're _not_. I don't want you doing anything for me."

"Ryuuji, this is the _only_ thing I can do for you—"

"You could leave me alone."

"I can't!"

With significant effort, Ryuuji sat up. "What do you mean, _can't_?"

Tristan's face was mostly obscured by shadows, but some illumination from a nearby gas station was enough to tell Ryuuji that he was trying hard to speak calmly. "You know what I mean."

Ryuuji had already exhausted himself, and he leaned back into the seat. It would be difficult to escape from the hospital, but it wouldn't be impossible. Maybe he should take what he could get. He sighed. "It it really that bad?"

Slowly, Tristan nodded, the shadows flickering across his face like the lens of a projector. After what he'd seen earlier, Ryuuji wasn't sure if it was natural or intended. At any rate, Tristan didn't seem aware of the changing light as he leaned toward Ryuuji. He raised a hand and then seemed to think better of it, dropping it back into his lap. He turned back to the wheel and started to open door. "Well, look, I'm going to go and, um, ask for directions. Try to stay awake for a few minutes." He didn't wait for Ryuuji's affirmation before slipping out of the car.

Staying awake was easier said than done. Ryuuji didn't know that much about medical science, but according to Tristan, the danger of Ryuuji dying was still a very real one. Ryuuji certainly didn't doubt that he needed a blood transfusion. Judging by his pulse, which pounded against his chest in a rhythm too erratic to ignore, he could even have a heart attack, but if he hadn't had one so far, he should be fine. He didn't understand why he had only gotten worse as the day progressed—

Ah. Of course. Vampires were traditionally stronger at night. Whatever effect Tristan was having on him, it was only intensifying.

Annoyed, Ryuuji pushed himself up a little bit to look around. Except for the streetlights and light from the store, it was completely dark, but what made Ryuuji more uneasy was the complete lack of people. Even in the middle of the night, there were usually kids hanging around in places like this, the ones were too cool for curfews but too young for bars.

The effort of even sitting up enough was becoming unbearable, and he slid back down against his seat and closed his eyes. To stay awake, he counted out long, deep breaths and tried to see if he could even out his pulse.

He was at 78 when there was a movement of light across his eyelids, and he looked up to see headlights in the rearview mirror. He was about to go back to counting when the vehicle turned and he saw the car behind the headlights. It was an big van, a black one, and even though Ryuuji's couldn't be sure, it was too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone but the so-called vampire hunters.

While the car was still parking, the passenger side door opened and a man jumped out. There was enough light from the store and the street lamps for Ryuuji to see him: dark skinned, dressed in black, bleach-blond hair. He was holding a gun.

"Shit." This was impossible. How had they caught up so fast? For that matter, how had they even trailed them to Domino? Ryuuji twisted in his seat to look towards the store. He couldn't see Tristan inside at all—how long did it take to ask for directions?

Of course, if Tristan lived in Domino, he didn't need directions.

Ryuuji swore again, the pit in his stomach only growing deeper as he realized that no matter what he did, people were going to die. The shade of Tristan's eyes had only gotten darker as the day progressed, but Ryuuji had been too preoccupied with his own condition to think anything of it. At any rate, whoever had had the bad luck to work tonight was probably done for. Ryuuji was on his own.

With his left hand, he carefully took the gun out of his jacket. He'd only had to fire it once in the past—usually just waving it around was enough to get him what he wanted—but Ryuuji doubted that that would work with these people.

And he'd thought that this would be _easy_.

Through the side mirror he could see the blond walking toward the Toyota. Hoping that the man hadn't seen him yet, Ryuuji leaned back into his seat. He didn't know if he could handle a shoot-out, much less stay conscious long enough to live through one. Panting, he pressed his free hand—the injured hand—to his chest, willing his heart to slow down. His body might be having some kind of physical reaction to whatever Tristan was doing, but he'd be damned if that's what got him killed.

The man was close enough to touch the trunk, and Ryuuji could see him in the rearview mirror. He was looking toward the store. Unwilling to lose the initiative, Ryuuji put his hand on the door. He was ready to swing it open when a wave of doubt and dizziness overcame him. He didn't know if he could stand up, much less aim accurately—what if he dropped the damned gun?

Frustrated with his own helplessness, he decided to go for it anyway when something caught his eye. Suspicious of the cause, he glanced toward the store. He only barely caught a quick sliver of movement before he swung around to see the man and someone else—must have been the driver—run towards the entrance to the store. They exchanged a few words, and the man's companion—Ryuuji could see now that she was a woman—turned and jogged around to the back.

So they were going to try some kind of pincer movement. He couldn't see Tristan, but Ryuuji knew he was still in the store. If these people were as powerful as Tristan seemed to think, Ryuuji doubted that Tristan would be able to get out.

Something flashed, blindingly bright, and Ryuuji blinked frantically to clear his vision. As the glow dimmed, he saw that the light was emanating from some sort of golden pole that the blond man was holding. Magical artifacts._ Of course.  
_

Then he saw the shadows.

He wasn't entirely sure where Tristan was; the mass of shadows inside the store was vaguely man-shaped, but it didn't maintain a solid appearance; it flickered under the lights of the store like a faulty bulb. The entire lot seemed to dim, and when Ryuuji looked down he saw that the shadows were all stretching, flooding toward the store, recoiling when they reached the barrier formed by the rod's light.

Ryuuji stared. After this morning, he had guessed that Tristan had more powers than he'd let on, but this was just weird.

And then a howl that was definitely non-human rang through the air and Ryuuji knew he had to do something. This hadn't been the plan, not by a long shot, but he had no idea what would happen to him if Tristan died. He didn't want to find out.

The Toyota was an older one, with a manual window roller, and Ryuuji reached down to crank the lever. Opening the door would be quicker, but it was louder, and anyway he didn't know if he could aim accurately with his left hand without something to rest his arms on. He was only going to get one chance to get this right.

The arm closest to the window was his injured one, and he had to drop the gun in his lap and twist around to use his left arm. As soon as he finished, he snatched the gun back up, his forearms on the edge of the door as he aimed, very carefully, at the blond. He was standing in the doorway to the store now, and at any second he'd step inside, making him a nearly impossible target.

And then, somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuuji had an idea. Tristan could leave him alone if he was a liability. Ryuuji could probably handle himself, and he didn't owe Tristan anything—he'd already saved his life once today—but if these people thought they were the good guys, well, maybe they were a better alternative than the police.

It was worth a shot.

The kickback was stronger than he'd remembered and it forced him back against the seat, where he lost his view of the store. Outside, he heard a startled shout and a scream that sounded like a woman's, and Ryuuji forced himself to ignore his aching chest and sit back up.

The man was on the ground. Ryuuji couldn't see what kind of shape he was in-just that he was still moving. He could see the woman, too. She'd emerged from around the corner and was running toward her companion, but she'd gathered herself enough to activate her artifact—it looked like a necklace—but for the moment all of her attention was diverted.

Ryuuji spent only a split second wondering where Tristan was when he appeared in front of Ryuuji's window.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Tristan's fists clenched on the frame of the car, the metal giving way under his fingers. There was a spatter of blood on the cuff of his shirt. Despite whatever had happened inside the store, he looked more alive than Ryuuji had ever seen him, and Ryuuji knew that the cashier was dead.

"Saving your ass." Ryuuji said, then gasped involuntarily as a tremor of pain shot through his chest. Automatically Tristan reached toward him, and then, with visible effort, withdrew his hand.

"Dammit, man—are you insane?"

Ryuuji growled under his breath. He had no idea what Tristan was doing, but it hurt. "Get out of here," he said. "I just bought you some time."

"You don't know what you're saying—" Tristan said, but Ryuuji was already shaking his head.

"You wanted an excuse, right?" he asked. "I'll be fine. Tell Bakura you had to leave me behind."

"But you'll-"

Ryuuji waved a hand weakly. "I'll be fine," he said. "You can't do anything to stop me." He met Tristan's eyes and forced himself to stare the vampire down. They both knew that the likelihood of Ryuuji getting anywhere by himself was slim, but even more slim was the likelihood of Tristan getting away if he had to drag Ryuuji along. "It's in your best interest, right?" Ryuuji said. "Can't do anything about that."

Dimly Ryuuji heard a woman's voice, raised, and Tristan flinched.

"I think you're right," Tristan said quietly. Then he gathered himself and straightened. "If you live, don't look for me. No matter what anyone tells you."

He was gone before Ryuuji could ask what that meant. Lacking the energy to do much else, he let himself sink into the seat and focused on breathing. He was still getting periodic pains in his chest, and they were only getting stronger and more frequent. He had no doubt that the vampire hunters would try to interrogate him next. Fair enough; he fully intended on letting them capture him. Someone crazy enough to spend their life hunting vampires was bound to believe whatever Ryuuji told them.

It took a few minutes for them to get to him. He heard some shouting and running, but Tristan was long gone and eventually they turned their attention to what he'd had left behind.

Ryuuji opened his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching the car. The woman standing outside was fairly short, now that he was getting a good look at her, but she gave off the illusion of height through a combination of good posture and intimidation. Like her companion, she had a thick military-issue coat and dark skin, but unlike the blonde, her hair was the deep black he normally associated with the Middle East. What really caught Ryuuji's attention, however, was the gaudy gold necklace hanging around her neck. Just looking at that thing made him uneasy.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice clipped with a thick accent.

Despite his aching lungs, Ryuuji struggled with the urge to roll his eyes. Not the most helpful question for either of them. Acting scared, exhausted, and helpless? Far easier. "Please help me," he said. "Is he gone?"

The woman hesitated-she clearly expected a different answer. But after looking at Ryuuji more closely and glancing back towards the storefront, she nodded. When she proceeded to say nothing else, Ryuuji sighed and tried again.

"Please! I…he bit me!" Ugh, this act was getting painfully ridiculous.

Her attention returned to him, her eyebrows angled down in an expression of irritation. "You shot my brother."

Ryuuji had his answer already prepared. "I couldn't help it—something was controlling me—" The pain was getting easier and easier to fake—though he was barely faking—and Ryuuji needed her to hurry up and offer him help before he ran out of time and got it himself.

Fortunately, the woman seemed to accept this explanation. Clearly this encounter was a common one. She turned slightly away from Ryuuji and raised her voice. "What do you think, Marik? We can take him to the hospital with us."

_Shit_. Ryuuji bit off his curse before he said it aloud. He hadn't taken this part of the plan into account. Before he could say anything, the man did, in a voice deeper and less accented than the woman's. "I don't need a hospital," he said. "Let him die."

"This one says he's innocent." The woman looked down at Ryuuji, who did his best to glare back while ignoring the involuntary constrictions in his chest.

"Oh?" A few footsteps, and the blond—Marik—appeared next to his sister. He was bleeding, but it was from the shoulder and he certainly didn't seem like he was in pain. He leaned forward with an expression that was far too condescending for Ryuuji's taste. They were supposed to be taking pity on him, dammit. "You're a real piece of work, aren't you?" he said. "But that act isn't fooling anyone."

Immediately, Ryuuji clenched his fingers around the gun, though he knew he probably couldn't lift, much less aim, the thing. He was starting to see spots.

Marik smiled. "Are you going to shoot me again?"

"Go to hell—" Ryuuji couldn't stop himself from gasping at this point. "—I don't…" He couldn't even finish his sentence, not that he knew what he was trying to say anyway, and he slumped back into the seat. Above him, he could still hear the foreign siblings converse, but he was mostly focused on cursing his pathetically weak human body and the stupid _stupid_ brain that decided taking a road trip with a vampire would be a good idea.

Through the fog, he could still catch snatches of their conversation, but it was mostly meaningless to him.

"You think he's one of theirs?"

"I thought so at first, but they've never tried this."

"So then the vampire—"

"It may have just been incidental. At any rate, this one might be..."

They hushed their voices, their conversation switching to some language Ryuuji didn't recognize. Or maybe he was just hallucinating.

He tried to stay conscious-he really did. There was no way he wanted to leave his fate in the hands of these bastards. And unconscious? It just wasn't his style. But his body gave him no choice on the matter, and the siblings were still murmuring above him when he inevitably slipped into the arms of darkness.

* * *

_**XII. The Hanged Man: **_The Hanged Man symbolizes one who has given up, or who has chosen to sacrifice himself. It tends to indicate restriction or a need to meditate on your decisions so far.


	5. The High Priestess

**4. The High Priestess**

"_Evil being the root of mystery, _

_pain is the root of knowledge."_

— _Simone Weil_

Ryuuji woke up to the sound of a woman's voice. He couldn't place it immediately; it was soft, female, accented. But it worried him, and when he traced the worry back to its source, he remembered who it belonged to, along with everything else. _Shit. _

He tried to move and found it impossible. There was a dull pressure over his face, a sharper one on his wrists. He remembered what had happened to the right wrist, though when he opened his eyes he saw that the bandana had been replaced with a bandage. Both arms now sported IV lines, and his left wrist was handcuffed to the bed. He was also, for some inane reason, equipped with an oxygen mask. There was sunlight filtering through the blinds of the window beside him, but the fluorescent lights on the ceiling were far brighter, and they illuminated his stark surroundings with maddening ease. There was no mistaking it. This was definitely a hospital.

Ryuuji swore, raising his free hand to pull off the mask. There was no way he was going to—

"So you _are_ awake."

He looked up. He'd forgotten about the woman from last night, who sat next to his bed, expensive-looking cell phone in one hand and clipboard in the other. She was prettier than he expected-exotic, even-but her appearance could easily be overlooked. At the moment, she was his biggest obstacle to getting out of here.

"Good morning, Ryuuji," she said. "I'm Ishizu Ishtar."

He was appalled that she knew his name—he'd long since gotten rid of anything that had his real name on it—though maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. He'd been unconscious too long and she'd worked too fast. Irritated, he pulled the mask off without responding. Unperturbed, Ishizu kept talking. Her accent might have been strong, but her English was otherwise excellent.

"They'll tell you that you had a heart attack brought on by hypovolemic shock," she said. "Not quite correct, but it's an easier explanation than the truth. Barring further complications, you should be fine. You were lucky that you got to the hospital in time."

Ryuuji didn't bother pointing out he hadn't wanted to go to the hospital in the first place.

"You might be interested to know that my brother has been treated and should make a quick recovery." She settled into her seat, a knifelike smile briefly gracing her features. "Be thankful the shot wasn't lethal. You'd certainly be dead if that had been the case."

Ryuuji raised an eyebrow, but didn't contest the point. He was already starting to see that cooperation with this woman was going to be nothing short of impossible.

Ishizu continued. "I'm sure you've noticed that certain parties have a vested interest in keeping you from leaving this room."

"I suppose you're one of those parties." Ryuuji didn't bother trying to act innocent. It was clear that Ishizu had already beat him at _that_ game.

"Perhaps," Ishizu said. "But the real question is where you'll be going when you _do_ leave."

"So I have options."

"Of course," Ishizu said. "The state of Nevada would certainly like to get their hands on you. Mostly likely they'd put you in prison, but because of your age you might be able to get away with a detention center." She looked down at the clipboard and tapped a slim finger on the top sheet. "I, on the other hand, wouldn't mind seeing you walk free."

There it was. "So you _do_ want to trade. What do you want, information?"

"At the very least. The extent of your usefulness remains to be seen." She punctuated this statement with another thoughtful tap on the clipboard. "But you don't have much choice, do you? It's that or go into custody for aggravated robbery and murder in the first degree."

When Ryuuji didn't reply, Ishizu looked up.

"I don't care if you did it or not," she said. "But as long as you cooperate with us, I can guarantee that the government can't touch you."

Ryuuji frowned. It _sounded_ promising-hell, it was exactly what he'd hoped she'd offer-but something about this whole arrangement didn't feel right. Maybe he'd be better off taking his chances with a court-appointed lawyer. "How do I know you have that kind of power?"

Without a word, Ishizu held up an ID card and held it aloft long enough for him to examine it closely.

"The Bureau of Paranormal Intelligence? Sounds fake."

"It _is_ fake," Ishizu agreed. "The CIA created it as a front for my family's…activities in your country." She picked up her pen again, clicking it once as she smiled at Ryuuji. "We have similar agreements with most of the world's major governments. It may be a false position, but it gets us where we need to go. Believe me, I have more than enough power to get you out of here."

Unconvinced, Ryuuji handed the ID card back. "Well, as much as I'd like to help, I don't know anything that could help you."

The expression on Ishizu's face was as subtle as it was chilling. "I beg to differ," she said, leaning toward him with her eyes narrowed. "Not only were you traveling with a vampire, you prevented his capture, indicating your association was by choice and not forced." She leaned back and studied Ryuuji. "Though you did say he was controlling you."

"Of course he was," Ryuuji said, it wasn't even a complete lie. "I told you that last night. And if you know all that, then you know I have nothing else to—"

He was interrupted by a third voice. "Excuse me?"

Ishizu turned, and Ryuuji looked past her to see a young light-haired man standing in the doorway. He smiled and lifted a hand apologetically. "Are you the only patient in here? I'm looking for my sister."

"I'm afraid you have the wrong room," Ishizu said.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Please excuse me. "

As the young man left the room, Ryuuji watched the door swing shut as Ishizu abruptly changed the subject. "I read your file. Repeated accounts of petty theft and delinquency. Never even finished high school."

Ryuuji's attention snapped back to the bedside. Time for a change in plans. "Right," he said. "How _did_ you find out who I was?"

Ishizu arched a delicate eyebrow. "Did you think it would be difficult?" she said. "We found your wallet. Your ID might have been falsified, but a simple search revealed that 'Duke Devlin' was the stage name of a Las Vegas performer. Imagine our surprise when said performer was wanted by the state." The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across her features. "Using a stage name as an alias is hardly the peak of intelligence."

"Are you trying to imply something?"

"Perhaps you aren't worth my time," said Ishizu. "You did shoot a man in cold blood—"

"The only man I ever shot in cold blood was your brother," Ryuuji said. He was gratified to see Ishizu's eyebrows rise and lips purse, but it only took her a moment to reclaim her smooth facade. He leaned back into the bed and stared fixedly at the ceiling. Might as well call her bluff. "I don't care about your little vendetta," he said. "And I can't help you anyway. So sorry, but I think I'll stick with prison."

To his surprise, Ishizu didn't seem upset by his attitude. "Very well. I'll come back when you change your mind."

"When I what?"

Her smile was poisonous. "Your capture has caused quite the media circus. In addition to legal authorities and lawyers, there are several journalists who would _love_ the chance to talk to you."

"That's not—I have rights! You can't—"

"I _can_." Ishizu said. "You wanted proof of my power, correct? My brother and I are leaving tomorrow morning; that's how long you have to reconsider."

Ryuuji didn't bother responding. He didn't even move until she got up and left the room, at which point he struggled into a sitting position and waited. It only took a few minutes for the light-haired young man from before to slip back through the door, approaching the bed without introducing himself. He didn't need to.

"I thought I recognized your voice," Ryuuji said. "You must be Bakura."

"And you're Ryuuji," Bakura said pleasantly. "It's nice to finally meet you." He trailed long fingers along the iron bar on the edge of the bed, bones showing prominently through his pale, almost translucent, skin. "Why the handcuffs?"

"Ah, well, I'm technically wanted."

"Is that so?" Bakura murmured approvingly. "What for?"

"Robbery," Ryuuji said, watching Bakura's reaction. "And murder."

Sure enough, the corners of Bakura's mouth twisted up into a feral grin that Ryuuji recognized. He had seen it on card sharks right before they took a hand. Hell, he'd worn it himself enough times.

"Is that so?" Bakura said. "I'm surprised. You're not Tristan's type at all."

Ryuuji didn't doubt it. "How is he?"

"Hm? Oh, Tristan. He's grumpy, as usual. Sent me to check up on you."

Bakura wasn't anything like Ryuuji had expected. He looked vaguely Asian, but then again, he looked vaguely _everything. _Mostly, he looked as he'd topple over at the first sign of wind. He was thin and pale, his eyes bloodshot, his hair thick and tangled and falling well past his shoulders and in his face, but it didn't seem to bother him in the least as they studied each other. Ryuuji didn't like the satisfied, predatory expression Bakura was wearing, but he tolerated it. If Bakura had come to offer an alternative to cooperating with the Ishtars, Ryuuji needed to hear it.

"What's your relationship to him?" Ryuuji said. "He doesn't seem to like you."

Startled, Bakura's eyes flicked up to Ryuuji's face before he threw his head back to laugh. "What makes you say that?" he said, putting a hand on Ryuuji's arm, fingers curling around his skin as Ryuuji smothered the impulse to retreat to the opposite edge of the bed. "Are you jealous?"

"I don't know," Ryuuji said. "Should I be?" He was fishing for information, and sure enough, Bakura delivered.

"Probably not," Bakura admitted freely. "You're right, he doesn't like me. Can't, really. Because I have this." He straightened and pulled at a chain around his neck. When he pulled it out of his sweater and revealed the golden ring hanging at the end, Ryuuji recognized it immediately.

"That's the same as those things the Ishtars had," he said. "You stole it?"

Chuckling, Bakura carefully tucked the ring back between his sweater and his shirt. He never touched the ring directly, though Ryuuji noticed him rubbing it through the fabric of his sweater. "Clever, too? I like that. Tristan had good taste for once." He glanced toward the door. "So, Ryuuji. What do you think of your new friends?"

"What, the Ishtars?" Ryuuji shrugged. He'd have to be careful. He still didn't know what Bakura wanted from him. "They both seem like assholes to me. But that woman—Ishizu—she's pulling all sorts of strings. She says she can get me out of here if I helped them."

"Hm," Bakura said. "It'd be best if you take that offer."

Ryuuji glanced up. "Really?" he said. "You want me to give you away?"

"Did I say that?" Bakura said, shrugging. "Go ahead and cooperate. They aren't dangerous to _me, _and you'll be able to do whatever you want once you're outside, right? You should do what's best for you."

Ryuuji didn't believe that for a second. "So what's in it for you?"

Bakura shrugged again, as if the answer was obvious. "Nothing. I just don't need you. At this point, they're close enough that they can find us even without your help."

"Wait-you want them to find you?"

It was the question Bakura had been waiting for, and his answering grin was chilling. "Why not?" he asked. "They've been _trying_ so hard already. It would ruin the game if we called checkmate before they'd even had their turn." He stretched his arms over his head and took a step back. "You'll see what I mean, Ryuuji. If you know what's good for you, you'll do what you need to do."

He turned, clearly intending to leave, and Ryuuji struggled to sit up farther. That wasn't right. Bakura didn't need to come here to tell him something like that; not to tell him what he already knew. There had to be another reason for Bakura to be here. Ryuuji took a gamble and gave it his best guess.

"So, what's your deal?" he said smoothly. "You jealous?"

Bakura stopped in his tracks, his head jerking back to glare at him. Bingo. Bakura's casual territoriality hadn't been empty posturing. He wanted to test Ryuuji, but more than that, he wanted to claim him.

"Of course not," Bakura said. "Jealous of Tristan?"

"Why not?" They might have been on the same side, but clearly they didn't like each other. Whatever Tristan had gained by association with Ryuuji, Bakura wanted it too.

"Because," Bakura snapped. "He's weak. And you-you're even weaker."

He was halfway to the door by the time Ryuuji had digested this statement. "So what does that make you?"

Bakura stopped. His only reply was to laugh shortly, his tone harsh and humorless. And as Ryuuji watched, he strode through the door without looking back.

* * *

Shortly after Bakura left, several police officers and lawyers came to gawk at Ryuuji and explain to him in thorough, unfriendly terms just why his imminent trial would be nothing short of a bloodbath.

Ryuuji was irritated, but not surprised. He'd seen his face in enough newspapers to know that there were several parties out for his head on a platter. It didn't matter. He refused to talk to all of them, even the lawyers, who hung around for several hours of probing questions that went nowhere. Ryuuji knew what they had to offer and had no plans to cooperate with them. Eventually the nurses drove them out, though not before plenty of them had dropped veiled threats about his imminent fate. If Ishizu had wanted to intimidate him, she'd done her job well.

The rest of Ryuuji's afternoon was occupied by nurses coming in and telling him, in varying tones of cheerfulness, that he had nearly killed himself by waiting so long to seek medical attention. Apparently Ishizu had told them that the bite on his wrist had come from a dog and in his efforts to evade the law he'd let himself bleed nearly to death. In any case, the nurses told him, he was lucky to be alive.

Luck had nothing to do with it. Ryuuji was still getting periodic chest pains and he'd had a splitting headache since he woke up, but he suspected that it wasn't a medical problem so much as a supernatural one.

He needed to reformulate his plan. Originally he'd hoped to con the Ishtars into trusting him for as long enough as it took him to sneak out of Domino, but he hadn't counted on them alerting the authorities to his identity. He had to take extra steps to make sure he'd get out safely, and for now that meant cooperation. The bigger problem was Bakura. He hadn't made any overt threats, but that didn't mean Ryuuji trusted him. If Bakura wanted him to cooperate with the Isthars, that was the last thing Ryuuji should do. But there was no way around it; he didn't have a choice. His best hope was half-assing his way through the Ishtar's interrogation and take the first chance he got to get out of Domino. They could fight their own war.

He was still stewing in his thoughts when Marik Ishtar found him. He was favoring one arm and Ryuuji could see bandages protruding out from under his t-shirt, but otherwise Marik looked perfectly healthy. The only oddity was his hair, ash-blonde despite his dark skin and hanging to his shoulders in a wild mess that made him look half hipster, half madman.

Ryuuji didn't bother with introductions. They knew who they were. "You recovered quickly."

"Well, you're a bad shot," Marik said. Compared to his sister's accent, his was nearly invisible. "Pathetic, really. But this place is boring and Ishizu's knee-deep in paperwork, so I thought I'd come for a visit." His grin was only mildly sinister. Ryuuji hated it. "I hear you're lucky to be alive."

"I owe it all to my saviors," Ryuuji said. "Who only argued for ten minutes about my potential usefulness before deciding to save me."

"We weren't the reason you were dying," Marik calmly pointed out. "And you shot me in the arm."

"I was aiming for your head."

"You seem bitter."

"And you seem like a dick."

To his surprise, Marik only laughed and took a seat by Ryuuji's bed. "I see what Ishizu meant."

When Ryuuji raised an eyebrow, Marik clarified. "She said you were acerbic."

"Is that a compliment?"

"If you like. It means—"

"I know what it means." Ryuuji didn't care if these people hated him, but no one could justify thinking him _stupid_. He was unschooled, not uneducated.

Marik shrugged. "She also said you turned down our offer."

"Well, you can't blame me for not trusting you."

"Oh, I don't," Marik agreed. "But don't worry. Since you're going to help us, I'll forgive you for shooting me."

Caught off guard by this turn of events, Ryuuji turned to study Marik fully. Marik withstood the scrutiny without protest, a slight smile on his lips. He wasn't being sarcastic; he seemed perfectly content to bear the brunt of Ryuuji's frustration, confident that nothing save death would prevent things from going his way.

Ryuuji wanted to punch him in the face. "You realize you're making me want to turn you down even more."

"Do it," Marik said, his grin spreading across his face. "I'll enjoy watching the carnage."

"You mean the trial? I'm still a minor, they won't—"

"I'm not talking about the trial." Marik nodded pointedly toward Ryuuji's wrist, the injured one. "I'm talking about _that_."

Ryuuji hesitated. It might have been a bluff, but Tristan had seemed worried about him yesterday, worried about something he wouldn't talk about. What did Marik know that he didn't?

"I see you understand what I'm saying," Marik continued. "When you're dealing with the supernatural, _anything_ can happen. Especially if you decide you don't want our help. There's no telling how long you'll last on your own, but it won't be long."

"Are you threatening me?"

Marik's teeth flashed behind his lips as he laughed. "Let's call it a warning," he said. "I wouldn't lay a hand on you unless you turned against us. Seems unlikely, considering that you're a coward."

"Did you come here just to piss me off? Because it's not changing my mind."

Instantly Marik was all business, his smile smoothing into his customary smirk. "To the contrary. I came to answer your questions." When Ryuuji started to reply, Marik held up a hand. "Don't," he said. "I know what you're thinking. You want out, and we're offering you what you want. You just haven't decided if we're trustworthy, right? That's why I'm here, to tell you what you want to know."

"So you can just lie to me?" Ryuuji leaned back into the bed, looking up and away from Marik. He was protesting just for the sake of protesting-he didn't want them suspicious when he suddenly changed his mind. The fact was, unless he managed to find a way out of this, he would have to choose a side eventually and he didn't want to.

"You don't have a choice, do you?" The Egyptian seemed unfazed by Ryuuji's noncooperation. When Ryuuji continued to stare silently at the ceiling, Marik continued. "Look, if you aren't an idiot, you'll realize that there's very little I could tell you that the vampires don't already know. There's no reason for me to lie."

"Sure there is," Ryuuji said. "You're just not telling me."

"I can't prove to you that I'm not lying, no. But you'd rather hear a lie than nothing at all, right?"

"That's—" Ryuuji glanced at Marik and was surprised to see him grinning. Ryuuji sighed. The bastard _did_ have him pegged, and Ryuuji did want information. Whatever he decided, he wasn't going to do this without a better idea of what he was getting himself into. "Fine. You said you'll answer anything?"

"Within reason." Marik leaned forward, propping his chin in his hand. "I assume you already know who we are."

Ryuuji was careful with his answer. He still hadn't decided if he wanted to let on how much he knew. "I know your name is Ishtar, you're from somewhere in Egypt—"

"Luxor."

"Whatever. You're vampire hunters, and you use magic somehow…"

"Yes."

Ryuuji snuck a glance toward Marik, but he seemed unfazed, and Ryuuji decided to take a risk. "I saw that scepter thing you were using…"

"Oh, you mean the Millennium Rod?"

"Do you have it with you?"

"Always." Marik reached down and pulled it out of a small sheath on his thigh, handing it to Ryuuji without any hesitation.

It was thin, maybe half an inch in diameter, about a foot long, with egyptian symbols carved along the edge. Hieroglyphics, Ryuuji guessed, though what they meant was a mystery to him. It was hot to the touch, and Ryuuji handed it back after a few seconds, uneasy. "Where'd you get it?"

"It's been in my clan for generations. There are seven, all told. There's a legend about how they're made, but no ones knows if it's true or not. I won't bore you with the details."

"Where are the others?"

"One was stolen. Ishizu and I have the other six."

That didn't seem right. "You have all of them?"

Marik's expression turned dark. "Why not?" he said. "There's no one else who can use them."

"Because everyone else is dead?" Ryuuji didn't intend to be flippant; he just needed the information. "Killed by vampires?"

"Yes," Marik said. "Specifically, one vampire."

It had to be Bakura. "Just one?" Ryuuji said. "But it wasn't Tristan."

"Who?" Marik looked puzzled. "Oh, you mean _your_ vampire? No, yours is too young. Our vampire is many centuries older than he is."

"Then why—" Ryuuji felt himself getting angry and checked his performance. It'd be better if he just sounded like a curious, well-meaning bystander. "Are you telling me this is just about revenge?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Tristan didn't do anything wrong."

Marik raised an eyebrow. "He's killed people, you know. He almost killed you."

Ryuuji remembered the cashier at the gas station. The lady at the toll booth. The night at the hotel, his eyes had been black. In the morning they'd been light brown. Ryuuji hadn't made the connection then, but he could make it now.

"I've never killed someone who wasn't supposed to be dead." Marik continued. "It's not like we're murdering innocent people." He studied Ryuuji, more incredulous than offended. "How long have you known him?"

"I don't see how that matters," Ryuuji said, slumping back into the bed. He didn't mind that he was losing the argument, as long as it forced Marik to prove him wrong. "You saying you're the good guys?"

"I'm saying that most people who take up with a vampire, even willingly, they don't live longer than a month. 6 weeks, at the most. You're the first one we've found alive in a long time. Most people like you, they get killed at the first sign of danger. Too much liability. The rest, they're bled to death long before we get on the scene. You're lucky we got there when we did-"

"Stop saying that."

"What?"

"That I was _lucky_," Ryuuji said, turning to glare at Marik. "He told me I would probably die. I went with him anyway. I chose all of this, even though he tried to stop me. You don't know anything about what I've done and why, so don't talk about me like I'm a victim. I'm not."

Marik frowned and looked down. He seemed deep in thought. Ryuuji stared at the opposite wall, irritated with himself for losing his temper. What did he care about Tristan's reputation? He'd probably never see the guy again.

Finally, Marik lifted his head. "So what you're telling me," he said. "Is that you're a free agent." When Ryuuji nodded, he leaned back in his chair and slammed a hand against the seat. "Dammit. And Ishizu was so sure you were with Bakura, too."

Ryuuji didn't react to Bakura's name. Marik's words only solidified his belief that any connection made between himself and Bakura would spell death for someone. But if Marik thought Ryuuji's information was useless, that wasn't good either. To hell with what Bakura wanted, Ryuuji had his own freedom to think about.

When Marik didn't say anything else, Ryuuji decided that asking another question couldn't hurt. "Is Bakura the vampire you're hunting?" And what had made Marik so certain that Ryuuji _wasn't_ with Bakura?

Marik only waved a dismissive hand in reply. He was clearly disappointed with his conclusion regarding Ryuuji's usefulness.

Undeterred, Ryuuji pressed on. "You said he was hundreds of years old." That could explain why he seemed more powerful. "And he stole one of those Items?"

"What do you care?"

"You said you'd answer anything."

Marik curled his lips into a sneer and said nothing. But Ryuuji held his ground, and after a few moments Marik tossed his head, and shrugged, apparently deciding that what Ryuuji knew or didn't know couldn't hurt anyone. "About fifteen years ago, he stole the Ring. It may have given him certain…powers."

Ryuuji was careful to check his expression. If the Ishtars already knew Bakura's identity, why hadn't they found him already?

A nurse, one who didn't seem to mind that Ryuuji was a murder suspect, came in to check his pulse, and Marik sat in silence as Ryuuji chatted with her long enough to get confirmation that he was making a rapid recovery and would probably be released in the morning. She seemed irritated about the latter information; the doctors wanted to keep Ryuuji for a few more days, but the law was _so_ _insensitive_ about proper inpatient treatment these days. Ryuuji was pleased at the news, but not surprised. Ishizu had already proved that she knew what she was doing.

When the nurse left, Marik stood up. The sun had started to go down, and he crossed the room to peer out the window and then lower the shades.

"We've only been able to pick up bits and pieces of information about him," Marik said. He seemed to be talking more for the sake of talking at this point. He had lost interest in converting Ryuuji of his cause. "He's been going around the country, turning people. The vampires he turns are different than normal vampires: they have absolute loyalty to him. They kill—"

Cutting himself off, he flipped his fingers along the blinds, causing shadows to reverberate on the opposite wall. "Did you hear about the KaibaCorp scandal? It was a couple years ago."

"I remember," Ryuuji said. "The CEO went crazy. Killed a bunch of people and then himself."

"Not quite," Marik said. "We suspected he might be a vampire and investigated."

"So it wasn't suicide."

Marik nodded. "We were too late to save anyone. He'd already killed the entire household. Almost killed us, too, before Ishizu took him down. But he kept saying that he needed to kill Bakura-get revenge on him or something. From what we could tell, Bakura had tried to turn him and something had gone wrong."

Ryuuji felt something twist in the pit of his stomach. This sounded like it went farther than the standard "we-kill-them-and-they-kill-us" type of warfare. It sounded more like Bakura was…experimenting.

"That's not all," Marik said. "We killed another vampire a few days ago, and he seemed to be an enemy of Bakura's—he died before he could tell us much."

Would it sound implausible to say Tristan knew Yugi but not Bakura? Considering that they were in the same city, it had to be possible on some level. It was worth a try; Ryuuji needed to regain Marik's interest. If the Ishtars thought he didn't have anything to offer, he wouldn't have any options at all.

"Do you mean Yugi?"

"What?"

"Was that his name?" Ryuuji asked, leaning forward in the bed. "Yugi?" He'd remembered the name only because it had been Japanese; he'd never thought the information would be relevant.

A second passed. Then Marik stepped away from the window. "It might have been," he said. He shoved a hand into his jean pocket. "What makes you ask?"

Ryuuji shrugged, raising a hand to tug self-consciously at a loose lock of hair. "Tristan was looking for him," he said. "I think they were friends."

"Vampires don't have friends," Marik said. "They have allies." He looked Ryuuji up and down, reassessing him. "Are you sure your vampire never mentioned Bakura?"

Shrugging again, Ryuuji slumped into his pillow. "Not that I remember," he said. "I just met him the other day. He didn't talk much."

Marik nodded slowly, but his suspicion wasn't going anywhere. "Why were you traveling with him?"

"Said he'd give me a ride to Domino. That's reason enough." That, at least, was true. Speaking of which… "What happened to the car, anyway?"

Marik's expression sharpened. "Want to run away, huh?" he said. "We took the keys and moved it. You'll get it back when you're released. That is, if you've suddenly decided that you want to cooperate."

Ryuuji tried not to look as pleased as he felt. If the Ishtars had the car, then Tristan didn't know where it was, and all it would take was a few lies for Ryuuji to get it for himself. Escaping Domino was starting to look like a definite possibility.

"Hey, maybe I will," he said, flippantly. "I'd do a lot of things to stay out of jail."

Marik's grin wasn't the least bit reassuring. "So I understand."

"The _hell_ does that mean?"

"It means that your loyalty's cheap."

"Doesn't mean you're getting it. I'm doing what I need to do to stay out of jail, not joining your cause. Keep that in mind."

Marik's grin spread across his face. "Oh, I _like_ that. You're not half as stupid as you look."

"Yeah, well you'd better believe I look pretty _damn_ good on a normal day."

It was a shallow response, but it worked. Sincerity hadn't done him any favors with these people. Judging by how hard Marik was laughing, this approach would serve him much better in the long run.

"It's too bad you're poisoned," Marik said, his merriment so potent his accent had returned, though Ryuuji still had no trouble understanding him. "I'd love to see your fighting spirit at full health."

"Poisoned?" Ryuuji said. "You mean…" He lifted his bandaged wrist and examined it cautiously. "Is that how it works?"

"You didn't know?" Marik said, stepping closer to the bed. He wiped a hand across his face and grinned shamelessly at Ryuuji. "Maybe I should take back what I said about your intelligence."

"Shut up and tell me how it works."

Shrugging, Marik obliged, crossing his arms. His grin didn't waver. "It's similar to hypnotism, I guess. A drug that controls behavior. It'll fade eventually. You probably felt like shit yesterday, right? That wasn't just blood loss."

Ryuuji caught on. "You mean withdrawal."

"Mm. By tomorrow you'll be wondering why you defended that vampire in the first place."

"I doubt that."

Marik shook his head, his grin suddenly menacing. "Believe me," he said. "If you _are_ still defending him tomorrow, you'll be in trouble."

Ryuuji felt his wrist throb as he regarded Marik warily. "Why?"

"Because that means he served Bakura," Marik said. "And _that_ means, by proxy, _you_ serve Bakura."

Marik's eyes were manic flashes of danger, and Ryuuji started to realize that far as the Ishtars were concerned, Ishizu was the one he wanted to deal with.

"I don't know Bakura," he said, exuding a calm he definitely didn't feel.

Marik's expression didn't change. "We'll see what happens tomorrow."

Without further explanation, he spun around and left the room, leaving Ryuuji to wonder just how deep of a hole he'd dug for himself. All these complications weren't making his job any easier. It was enough that he almost wished he'd chosen jail.

Almost.

* * *

When Bakura exited the hospital, he found Tristan waiting for him. He had ditched the long coat for a sweatshirt and stood under the shadow of the building, away from the main doors.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"You _suggested_ I stay in the car," Tristan said grimly, straightening his shoulders and stepping back onto the sidewalk. "How'd it go?"

His voice was carefully neutral, and Bakura made sure to match his tone. "Well enough," he said. "It's too bad about what happened, but I think he'll still be useful. You got lucky this time."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I forgive you for trying to hide him from me." Bakura looked toward his companion, his grin widening when he saw how poorly Tristan hid his dismay. "Don't worry, I haven't done anything to him yet. We'll just have to wait and see if he lives through tomorrow."

"You're a sadist."

Bakura only laughed and quickened his step. "Can you blame me?"

"Not really. Can I drive?"

Bakura tossed him the keys. "You seem antsy."

"I'm pissed," Tristan corrected, unlocking the car, a long dark grey Prius. Expensive, but not flashy. "_And_ antsy. What if he figures out what's going on?"

"That's why we're going to pay a little visit downtown," Bakura said. "I already forged the police reports."

Tristan frowned. "What, do you _want_ them to find us?"

Bakura settled back into the seat. "Not us," he said. "Mai. They'll scope the store out tomorrow."

The engine roared to life and Tristan stared at the steering wheel, the frown on his face only growing deeper as Bakura waited. "Why-why her?"

"Because she'll do what you won't," Bakura said. He waved a hand in an annoyed gesture and Tristan turned around in his seat to steer the car out of the parking lot, neck craned in concentration. "Anyway," he continued. "She's expendable and she knows it."

"_I'm_ expendable, too."

"You _were_," Bakura said. "But not anywmore. I have a feeling you've won the loyalty of our dear Mr. Otogi, so until we know what he decides, I can't afford to let you die."

Tristan chose not to reply, but Bakura saw the subtle tightening of his jaw. Smirking, he slunk down into his seat. "Do you know what he said to me?" he asked, using one finger to twist the chain around his neck. "He said I was jealous of you."

Tristan snorted. When Bakura didn't laugh, Tristan turned to glance at him.

"Wait—_are_ you?"

"What if I was?" Bakura pulled the Millennium Ring out from under his shirt. "What would you say?"

Tristan eyed the artifact nervously. "I'd say you're insane," he said. "There's no way-"

"Oh, this doesn't count for much," Bakura said, leaning over the armrest toward Tristan. He lowered his voice. "I told him he wasn't dangerous."

Tristan kept his eyes fixed on the road. "He won't believe you."

"Maybe you're right." Bakura laughed, briefly, but he'd lost his enthusiasm. He slumped back into his seat and stared out the window. "But that's not what I'm worried about," he said. "You know the playing field's never been even between us."

"That's because you cheat."

"Yeah," Bakura sighed and tucked the Ring under his shirt. "Well, let's go get something to eat before we track Mai down. I don't want you messing with that new girl she's got around. I've seen the way you look at her."

"Like she's better looking than you?"

"Exactly." Bakura stretched his arms over his head as far as he could go before hitting the ceiling of the car. "Don't hate me for being right, Tristan. I'm just following orders, same as everyone else."

* * *

_**II. The High Priestess**_: This card represents the difficulty of choice and the necessity of taking the time to listen to yourself. She holds the key to all types of knowledge and wants you to explore; it is better to understand than to act without knowing.

_A/N: You might have noticed that I changed the appearance of the Millennium Items slightly. In this AU, they are much less bulky and more closely resemble the items they're named after in both size and shape._


	6. The Wheel of Fortune

**5. The Wheel of Fortune **

"_The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things." _

— _Rainer Maria Rilke_

It only took ten minutes for Ryuuji to decide that the hospital lobby was one of the dullest places on earth. A person could only take so many minutes of staring at outdated magazines, a mute television permanently stuck on the shopping channel, and what felt like hundreds of hygiene infographics before breaking down from complete boredom.

The lobby's only upside was its conspicuous absence of lawyers, reporters, and policemen. While Ryuuji didn't want to deal with unwanted attention, he thought Ishizu could've had the courtesy to fill out all her paperwork _before_ she tempted him with freedom. He'd already dealt with two straight days of restriction; right now all he wanted was space and fresh air, though he'd probably have to settle for just the fresh air. Neither Ishtar had let him out of their sight since a security guard had come by that morning to remove the handcuffs.

He watched as yet _another_ nurse skittered through the lobby on a mysterious errand, looking surreptitiously toward the seating area as she passed Ryuuji. The hospital staff had treated him with varying degrees of welcome, and though Ryuuji had appreciated the way they'd fought to keep him under medical supervision, he was sure they were all glad to see him go. He could only guess at the kinds of rumors they'd been telling. Judging by the sheer number of staff members trying to catch a glimpse of him when they thought he wasn't looking, they had to be more colorful than true.

But he'd already suffered through an hour of watching medics tramp through the administrative building on made-up errands, and even that had lost its color. Ignoring Marik's sharp glare of disapproval, Ryuuji stood up and sidled across the lobby to Ishizu where she stood at the front desk.

"Could you hurry it up?" he asked. "I can tell they're just _waiting_ for me to cut loose and kill someone."

Her silent, calculating glare told him more than any reply could, but Ryuuji held his ground. He didn't care if she didn't like him, but he did care about staying out of the public eye. No matter what Ishizu said, he doubted she had absolute control over an entire government. For all he knew, as soon as he stepped out of her sight, the entirety of the national judiciary would come crashing down on his head.

After what seemed like a minute of examiniation, her chin jerked down in a tiny nod. "Very well." She turned to the secretary, exchanged her file of papers for another, and pointed him toward the door. It was so smoothly executed it convinced Ryuuji that she'd been drawing the process out just to watch him to lose his patience.

He had expected the Ishtars to take him somewhere private; an interrogation chamber or a hotel room or at least a back alley—anywhere they could question him without fear of being overheard. When they opened up the van, however, he realized that perhaps they didn't have to go anywhere; the entire vehicle had been outfitted for on-the-road living. Someone had removed the back three rows of seats and replaced them with an array of futons, coolers, and armored chests, all chained or soldered to the floor.

"What the hell?" he said, peering into a cooler which ended up containing several half-melted bags of ice, a half-gallon of milk, a block of cheese and what looked like enough vegetables to choke a rabbit. "Do you guys live here?"

"What do you think?" Marik said, climbing into the front passenger's seat. "It's not like a hotel would be any safer."

"Wait—wouldn't it? I thought they need an invitation-"

"How hard do you think it would be to get one?" Ishizu said from behind him. "Humans are easily corrupted."

"Are they?" Ryuuji said, turning to contemplate her. He couldn't tell if it was a dig at him personally, or if she was referring to something much more far-reaching.

Her grim smile was a warning, but it was also her answer. Marik might have been brimming with answers, but she wasn't about to open up to someone like him. "Get in the car."

"There aren't even any seats."

"See that?" She pointed at the ceiling of the van. "There's a bar there," she said. "Find somewhere to hold on and you'll be fine."

Obediently, Ryuuji crawled in, settling on a metal trunk and reaching up to grab the bar with his uninjured hand. Ishizu closed the door behind him and went around to take the driver's seat. Without ado, she put the vehicle in motion and soon they were swerving out of the parking lot.

"I feel like I'm in an action movie," Ryuuji said. "What's in all these chests? Guns?"

Marik grinned at him through the rearview mirror. "And knives."

Unsettled, Ryuuji simply arched an eyebrow in reply and turned to take a look out the window as Ishizu steered them onto the freeway. "Where are we going?" he said. "I thought you just wanted to ask me some questions." On the one hand, leaving Domino might be a good thing. On the other, it threw all his plans out the window.

Marik's arm was twisted around the seatbelt, his fingers dragging down the canvas as he spoke with lazy confidence. "We intercepted a police report this morning. There was a "domestic dispute" last night on the other side of the city. Then a power outage " His eyes met Ryuuji's in the rearview mirror. "Looks like your vampire's been busy."

Ryuuji ignored the obvious gibe. "You saying you get the police to do your work for you?"

"Easier than guessing where to go next," Marik said, laughing. "We get first dibs on the crime scene and they get to keep their necks intact."

"Marik." Ishizu said. Apparently she didn't want him continuing the conversation. Marik met his sister's eyes for a moment before shrugging and nonchalantly leaning back into the seat. He didn't say anything else.

Following Marik's lead, Ryuuji stared out the tinted windows. At this point, presenting an aura of calm was second nature, but inwardly he was a convoluted mess of motivations. He'd agreed to help them, believing he could just play along until he found an opportunity to get out of this whole mess, but it looked like things were coming to a head sooner than he thought. _Had_ Tristan been behind the murders, or was it a bluff on the part of the Ishtars, trying to win his loyalty? Either way he didn't like it. He didn't want to choose a side; he didn't like the Ishtars and he didn't trust Tristan, especially if Bakura was part of the package.

Only two exits later, they were off the freeway again and in a district that the signs proudly proclaimed "historic".

The label was dubious. Certainly nothing had been there longer than seventy years. To make the place look older, someone had installed Victorian-style fencing in front of the houses and painted murals of town history on the bricked buildings. The recently-planted maple trees lining the street completed the holistic facade. During nice weather the area might bring in a few tourists, but winter had arrived and it was overcast; the streets were empty.

Ishizu turned down one side road and then another, driving until the brick had given way to concrete and the maple trees to smaller, iron-bound saplings. She parked near the street corner, outside an abandoned drugstore. A townhouse sat next to it, and nestled between the two Ryuuji saw a thin ratty canopy hanging over a door. A sign proclaimed that local art was sold within, but it was more likely a souvenir shop: the kind that sells tacky t-shirts and postcards to lost tourists. The sign was faded, and the window beside the door was dark; it looked as if the building had been closed for some time. Certainly Ryuuji couldn't imagine a place like that _ever_ getting any business.

Marik hopped out of the van as soon as it had stopped and circled it to open the back doors. "Bring me that bag."

Ishizu stayed in the driver's seat. She was tinkering with her cellphone, a thick black one that looked as if it had seen its share of action. Ryuuji brought Marik the bag-a duffel, similar to his own-and sat on the fender while Marik dug through it with one hand. Finally he pulled out a golden key, the old-fashioned kind, about an inch longer than your average house-key. Like his Rod and Ishizu's Necklace, it was inscribed with an eye.

"Let me guess," Ryuuji said. "The Millennium Key?"

"Don't be obvious," Marik said. "Guess what it does."

Ryuuji waved a vague hand. "Some magic light-up thing?"

"Well, sure," Marik said. "They _all_ do that. Vampires can't so much as touch them without getting burned." He tossed the Key up in the air and caught it. Behind him, Ryuuji could hear Ishizu huff with disapproval. "They're holy relics, so it comes with the territory. But they all have secondary functions, too."

Ryuuji hadn't known that. "Like what?"

"Well, the Necklace can give you visions of the future sometimes. You can't control when you see them, but they definitely help—how do you think we tracked you down the other day? The Rod's a better weapon—it paralyzes them." He waved the Key in the air. "So the Key…?"

Ryuuji eyed the object. "Unlocks doors?"

Marik's grin seemed ominous. "Not _just_ doors." He looked over Ryuuji's shoulder to the front of the van. "You ready, Ishizu?"

"Give me a minute."

Ryuuji was still gazing at the Key. "Can I see it?"

"Don't get too excited," Marik said, handing the Key over. "You won't be able to use it."

The Key was lighter than Ryuuji had expected, considering it was made of metal. Like Marik's Rod, it was hot to the touch. Not painfully so, but still, something about the wavering warmth troubled Ryuuji. He turned it over in his hands, the heat emanating through his palms and sitting against his bones. "If vampires can't touch them," he asked, handing the Key back. "How did Bakura steal one?"

Marik's expression clouded. "He had help." He turned away as he spoke, and Ryuuji thought Marik was avoiding his eyes until he saw where he was looking. There was a window in the second story of the building. It was closed, but the curtain on the other side was moving. That floor must have been residential, Ryuuji realized. Whoever owned the store had no doubt lived above it.

"Look at that," Marik said. He raised his voice. "Ishizu, you were right."

"I know."

"Right about what?" Ryuuji asked.

"It's a trap," Marik said, growing more excited by the minute. "Fantastic. You better get ready to see some action-it's gonna be messy."

"Hold on a second-I'm not going in there." _That_ was not part of the plan. "I never agreed at anything like this."

"You said you'd cooperate, and cooperation requires assistance _in_ _full_," Ishizu said from the driver's seat, slipping the phone into her coat. She glanced at them through the rearview mirror. "Although you won't be expected to do much beyond act as bait."

"Like hell I'm doing that! I won't — you can't make me do that." He didn't want to risk getting caught in the middle of two opposing parties. "Why would I? I'm not exactly a fan of this whole war thing you've got going on."

"Says the murderer," Marik said, shrugging when Ryuuji turned his ire on him.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"All I'm saying is, it's just killing. Should be easy for you."

"If it was _you, _it'd be the easiest thing in the world."

"Just try," Marik said. "I _dare_ you."

"We don't have time for this," Ishizu said joining them. "Ryuuji, you don't have a choice in the matter. Understand?"

Ryuuji understood perfectly well. This was a test. Well, if he had no choice, he wanted to give up on _his_ terms. "I'm not going in there without a gun. I want mine back."

Marik laughed. "Why, so you can shoot me again?"

"If you're looking for an apology, you're not getting one. Either you get me an actual weapon or I'm staying out here."

Marik turned to Ishizu, and she shook her head. While Marik seemed to be the voice of their operation, so far Ishizu seemed to have the final say.

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Marik turned away to rummage through a nearby chest. Silently he handed Ryuuji a gun—his gun. Ryuuji looked it over, checked the ammunition chamber. It was empty.

"At least this way you can bludgeon me to death," Marik said cheerfully.

Sensing that this was as far as he was going to get on the issue, Ryuuji slipped the gun into his coat, conceding defeat for the moment. He had a holster somewhere, but he wasn't going to risk being on the tail end of Marik's humor again. He just had to hope that if worst came to worst, he could bluff his way out.

Ishizu shoved the doors closed. "Is everyone happy?"

Her only answer was disgruntled silence, but it seemed good enough for her, and she walked toward the store without a single look back. Marik followed her, and Ryuuji sighed. The concept of going inside that building wasn't one he liked, but he didn't see how he had any other options, short of trying to steal the van at gunpoint. As much as he'd like to try it, he didn't want to test his luck. Not with the Ishtars.

When they caught up to Ishizu, they stopped. She stood before the front door, staring into space, her lips pursed in concentration. Ryuuji tried to look inside through a small side window, but all the blinds were lowered and it was impossible to see anything.

"Vision?" Marik asked Ishizu.

She glanced at Ryuuji and shook her head. "Just praying."

"But it's still here?" Marik said.

"Yes." Ishizu touched her Necklace. "It's waiting."

"Perfect," Marik tightened his own grip on the Rod, his grin contradicting his anxious behavior. Behind her brother's back, Ishizu glanced once more at Ryuuji, but if there was meaning in her expression, he couldn't read it.

"Let's go," she said.

Marik opened the door, and they all three stepped inside.

The store was a wreck. Racks had fallen over where they stood, beads and shot glasses saying WISH YOU WERE HERE strewn across the floor. All that remained of the stock was hopelessly outdated, but the damage had happened recently; there were smeared footprints in the dust on the floor. The air was thick with more dust, dust which should have settled hours ago.

Then Ryuuji saw the body draped over the cashier's counter. A young man, his skin unnaturally white. It took Ryuuji a moment to realize why; he'd been completely drained. There was no blood to be seen near the body, no outward signs of violence—except for the deep scratches in the wooden surface of the counter. Five of them.

"Elegant, isn't it?" Marik said, pushing aside a fallen rack of sweatshirts. He and Ishizu had made straight for the staff entrance in the back wall. "I told you they were monsters."

The door led to the stairwell, where they found another body. This kill was far less clean: a smear of blood started at the top of the stairs and ran raggedly along the banister all the way to the bottom, where they found the crumbled body of a middle-aged man. The smell was overwhelming: coppery and foul and otherworldly; the shirt soaked with blood, flecks of red in his unshaven beard, an ear half ripped off. Whoever had done this had been in a hurry.

Marik nudged the body with his shoe, and the head lolled to the side; it was only attached to the neck by a few strands of muscle.

"Trap," he said with satisfaction, almost cheerful amidst the carnage. "This couldn't have happened more than an hour ago."

Ryuuji tried to speak and couldn't.

"He's going to faint," Ishizu said.

Marik looked at Ryuuji and frowned. "Don't tell me you can't handle a little blood."

Ryuuji shook his head, pressed a hand against his temple. "It's not that," he said. "It's just-"

They heard the muffled thump of heavy footsteps on the floor above them. Marik glanced upstairs. "Someone's impatient."

"We don't all like playing this game," Ishizu replied, following his gaze. They began climbing the stairs.

Unless he wanted to stay with the corpses, Ryuuji had no choice but to follow. He went slowly, trying not to look at the blood on the wall. He didn't normally consider himself weak-stomached, but this was different. It was like the other day, when every little thing Tristan did manifested in a physical reaction. He'd been lightheaded since they walked in the door, and he leaned against the opposite wall as he climbed up the stairs to avoid losing his balance. By staring at the ground, he could avoid looking at the blood altogether, but about halfway up, he realized that every time he took a step, the shadows would jump out to meet his feet and then recede in a slow, reluctant way that definitely wasn't natural. A vampire was close, and it was watching.

It couldn't have been Tristan. He couldn't be _that_ stupid, right? Ryuuji wasn't sure.

When he reached the landing, he found the Ishtars standing in the doorway of the closest bedroom, looking inside. As he approached, they both glanced at him without actually meeting his eyes, as if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't. Silently, Ishizu swept away from him and down the hall, to the second bedroom.

"This door's locked," she said. "You have the Key?"

Marik followed her, both of them ignoring Ryuuji altogether. "This feels wrong," he said. "It's all backwards."

"Just open the door."

Ryuuji's head was pounding, and he shrank against the wall. Some part of his mind seemed to have stretched taut; at any moment it would snap. _Shit_. He took a step backward. He needed to get back downstairs.

There was a shrill voice speaking from somewhere inside his head. Ryuuji lifted his hand and tangled it in his hair, as if he could pull the voice out through physical force. Down the hall, Ishizu's fingers were fanned out against the door. She was talking; he could see her mouth moving, but he couldn't hear the words.

Ryuuji closed his eyes. This felt just like before. He couldn't breathe. But that wasn't right. Marik had said that this should have worn off by now—

_Come in._

"Don't." Ryuuji said. He tried to lower his hand, his fingers catching in his hair. He could feel the shadows twisting at his feet, crawling up his legs and whispering against his skin. This wasn't supposed to be happening.

He could hear laughter. He couldn't tell where it came from. There was a touch, cold and insistent, and it pulled him forward, into the open doorway of the abandoned bedroom. "I need to show you something," the vampire said, its voice calm and shockingly female, and Ryuuji opened his eyes.

She must have been beautiful when she had been alive. Her blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders, perfect despite the blood on her shirt and the shadows in the air, and her eyes, bright violet, watched Ryuuji intently. Without speaking, she gestured behind her, to the bed, where he saw the body of a girl, younger than himself, with red hair. Ryuuji thought she was dead until he saw the slow rise and fall of her chest.

The vampire might have looked calm, but there was an unmistakable tremor in her voice. "I had to choose," she said. "Which one to take. I guess he thought you needed the motivation—"

There was a shout from the other room and the shadows came to life, rising up out of the floorboards and twisting around his limbs. The vampire's hands, fingers long and frozen and elegant, closed on his shoulders as she pulled him out of the doorway and shut the door.

"What are you doing?" Ryuuji asked, hands automatically reaching for his pocket, for the familiar weight of the gun that wouldn't help him at all. The vampire caught his wrist in her hand, and he stopped, feeling his wound pulse beneath her touch.

"Don't worry about that, hon," the vampire said. "I just want to talk to you."

Ryuuji didn't want to talk to her. No one had asked him whose side he wanted to be on. "Why?"

Ignoring his questions, the vampire drew him away from the door, toward the bed. "He won't let you live either, you know."

"Bakura," he said. At the same time he spoke, he heard Marik's voice, raised, and a flash of light from the hall, the crack of the wood splintering apart, banging as the door swung back to hit the wall.

"Yes," the vampire said, hissing as Marik appeared in the doorway, arm raised. He held the Key in one hand on the Rod in the other, both of them flashing. As Ryuuji turned to face him, he felt the vampire flinch, but her fingers dug into his shoulders and she didn't retreat. She pulled him closer, as if she could use him as a shield. Ishizu appeared behind Marik, and together they entered the room, their expressions impassive. This must be what they'd meant by "bait."

"Didn't take you long, did it?" Marik said to the vampire. "Where's Bakura?"

The vampire's lips thinned, but she showed no inclination to speak. Ryuuji wasn't even sure if she could. Judging by the stiffness of her posture, the Rod was doing its work far too well.

"Marik," he said. "Let her go. She hasn't even done—"

Marik expression was flat as he turned his attention to Ryuuji. "Ask her who killed the guys downstairs."

Ryuuji knew Marik was right. It would have been impossible to ignore the evidence of his own eyes, but the vampire had wanted to tell him something, had wanted to warn him—

"Let her go," he repeated.

"The hell I will."

"Marik." Ishizu's still sounded calm, despite everything. Her hand hovered over her Necklace, but she hadn't activated it. There was no point. The vampire wasn't going anywhere. Marik tilted his head toward her, in another one of those moments where they seemed to understand each other without saying anything at all.

Muttering under his breath, he finally turned back to Ryuuji. He didn't drop the Rod. He grinned, in an expression that was worse than any Ryuuji had ever seen on a vampire. "All right," he said, his grin flickering from Ryuuji to the vampire. "Make it quick. You don't have much time."

Ryuuji felt the vampire's hands relax around his shoulders, but she didn't move otherwise. Slowly, sick with apprehension, he took a step sideways and turned enough to see the vampire's face. She was studying the Ishtars, but when moments passed and she judged that Marik was not an immediate threat, she turned her full attention to Ryuuji. Her lips curled up, and he saw that her teeth were stained red. "Well," she murmured. "I wasn't sure, but you might be able to make it work."

This had to be Bakura's doing, but Ryuuji couldn't understand why. If Bakura had wanted something from him, why hadn't he just said so? The only thing he knew was that the girl in the bed was an unmistakable threat; step out of line and you'll end up like her. "What is he planning?" Ryuuji asked, his voice a hushed whisper. "What does he want?"

Across the room, Marik's eyes narrowed. Ryuuji tried to keep his eyes on both the Ishtars and the vampire, and in the back of his mind, he knew this was a bad, _bad_ move; the vampire was just as dangerous as they were. He'd have to tread lightly if he wanted to get through this unscathed. He was done making nice with the Ishtars, but he wasn't about to start playing Bakura's games either.

The vampire shook her head. "Please," she said, "I can't- I can't-"

So she was just like Tristan. Somehow, the thought was a relief. He could get around this. "I get it," he said. "Tell me what you can."

The vampire nodded. As she raised a hand to touch Ryuuji's face, the wound in his wrist violently started to ache. She spoke slowly, shuddering. Her eyes had started to turn dark, more quickly than he'd ever anticipated. In moments they'd be black entirely. "They didn't understand-I had to kill both of them to tell you."

He couldn't look away. A pit had opened up under his feet, swallowing the air and everything around them. The vampire pulled him close, pressing her mouth directly against his ear, her lips frigid, her voice death.

"He used it," the vampire whispered. "He used it on himself."

His mouth was dry. "Who did?"

"You know who," She was shaking bodily now—she'd said too much. "He's—"

Her fingers tightened against his shoulders, and there was a gunshot. Deafened, Ryuuji turned; she was staggering back, slipping to the ground, and he fell with her, twisting to catch her in his arms. Still she held on to him with the force of a vise, pulling him by the shoulders until he knelt down, close enough to see the hole in her temple, the thin trickle of blood staining her hair.

Her expression seemed strangely relieved.

"Tell Tristan," she whispered, her hands weakening. "He has to say goodbye."

Ryuuji didn't have time to ask what she meant. Marik had crossed the room by now; he pushed Ryuuji away, leveled the gun, and shot the vampire. Once more in the head. Twice in the heart. By the third shot, the vampire's body was shuddering, disintegrating, flakes of skin turning to ash and drifting to the ground. Marik lowered the gun and, with one violent motion, kicked the body, the entire thing imploding in on itself as smoothly as quicksand, and then there was nothing but dust and ashes.

"What a waste of time," he said. "Bitch."

The cold metal barrel of a handgun jammed itself into the back of Ryuuji's head.

"What did she tell you?" Ishizu demanded.

Ryuuji licked his lips, suddenly aware that he was holding handfuls of ashes in both fists. "Maybe if you hadn't _killed_ her, you could ask her yourself," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. Now was not the time to get stubborn, he told himself. It didn't matter. He was too angry to care.

Ishizu didn't budge. "We just saved your life."

"She wasn't going to hurt me—"

"She was going to suck you dry," Marik interjected, still kicking tiny piles of ash into the air. "She couldn't help it."

"I don't believe you."

"Of course _you_ don't, you were half entranced—"

"Marik," Ishizu said. He quieted, and slowly Ishizu leaned down behind Ryuuji. Without moving the gun, she spoke. Calmly. Reasonably.

"Ryuuji," she said. "We're all on the same side here. Whatever message she gave you, it was meant for all of us."

"Then why—"

"Do you think she could have told _us_ when she could barely tell _you_?"

Ryuuji exhaled slowly. "And you're trying to tell me that you're all working together, is that it?"

Beside the bed, Marik laughed.

"In a manner of speaking," Ishizu said.

Ryuuji wanted to laugh, himself. That was beyond the realm of possibility. "Give me one reason to believe you."

There was a long, loaded moment. Still on his knees, Ryuuji could just imagine the look passing between Marik and Ishizu. Finally she lifted the gun, took a step back. Ryuuji turned to look at up at her, and she raised a single eyebrow. _Is this enough_?

_Not hardly_, Ryuuji thought_, _and Ishizu sighed.

"You may not want to believe us," she said. "I wouldn't expect you to. But we have only ever sought to protect human life. You may think our methods unfair, and you might be right. They might not all deserve to die, but either way we kill them." Her expression softened, and she held out a hand. "You care, don't you? If you didn't, you'd have told us what we wanted already."

Unsteadily, Ryuuji got to his feet, ignoring Ishizu's outstretched hand. "Or maybe I just don't like you." He felt irritated: with himself for being an ass and letting this happen, with Ishizu for trying to sell him such a blatant lie, and with Marik for killing the vampire before she had a chance to tell him what the hell was going on. But mostly with himself. He must really be losing his edge if he'd gotten into a mess like this.

Ishizu dropped her hand, her expression cold. "Or perhaps I was right," she continued. "And you're protecting Bakura."

Ryuuji was about to tell her exactly where he could put her accusations, but Marik spoke first.

"Don't be stupid, Ryuuji. You'll have to help us either way. Make things easy on yourself and just tell us what you know."

"Let me go and I might think about it."

"And then what?" Ishizu said. "You clearly can't handle being on your own at this point."

"Don't assume what I can or can't do," Ryuuji said, taking a step backwards. "I can take care of myself."

"No you can't." Marik said. His voice was somber, but he still had that damned smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what Ryuuji was thinking. "You know why?"

Furious, Ryuuji opened his mouth to reply. But Marik wasn't waiting for his answer. "Because you have nowhere else to go," he said. "You'll try to find the vampires, but they can't be found unless they want to be—not by someone like you—and why would they let you? You'd be leading us straight to them."

"That's not true—" But Ryuuji knew, even as he said it, that it was a lie. He couldn't risk staying in the city, but Bakura's threats were crystal clear. There was nowhere else to go.

Marik's grin infuriated him. "You know I'm right," he said. "Unless you want to die, you'll stay with us." He nodded past Ryuuji toward the bed. "Or maybe you'd rather end up like her."

Slowly, Ryuuji turned to take another look at the redheaded girl, who was still lying on the bed. As Ryuuji watched, she stirred slightly, mumbling.

Ishizu sighed.

Ryuuji looked at the Marik's face, and then at Ishizu's. Marik watched the girl casually, satisfied. She was all the proof he needed. But Ishizu was watching Ryuuji. Their eyes locked for a moment, and she nodded. Marik wasn't lying.

Ryuuji looked back at the girl on the bed, and he stepped forward. No one stopped him as he approached the girl and sat on the bed beside her. Her eyes were open, and her mouth moved slightly, but her eyes didn't focus, and her mouth formed no words. He raised his hand and touched her face, brushing his fingers along the curve of her cheekbones. Feeling nauseous, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then traced the series of scars that ran all along the side of her neck down to her collarbone. She stirred unconsciously against his touch, but her eyes still looked straight through him. He shuddered and took his hand away.

"When the paramedics find her," Marik said, "They'll say that she's lost nearly all signs of brain activity."

"Marik—" Ishizu warned, but he cut her off.

"Bakura's being killing them left and right," he said. "The humans his vampires feed on."

"Why?" Ryuuji said. He knew the answer before Marik needed to say it.

"They can tell us what the vampires can't," Ishizu said, sounding resigned. "And Bakura's careful. We don't know why, or how, but he's been doing this to all of them. Minds, personalities, everything, gone. And somehow he's also controlling his vampires—that's something we've never seen before—"

"I told him already," Marik said. He stood in the doorway, twirling the Millennium Rod idly in his hands. "I'm starving. Let's get out of here."

"But—" Ryuuji couldn't stop staring at the girl's eyes.

"Leave her," Marik said. "No point wasting space—"

Ryuuji stood up and spun toward Marik, ignoring the way Ishizu cautiously lowered a hand to her gun. "What do you mean, _leave her_?"

Marik met his eyes calmly. "Weren't you listening? She's done for. I've got better—"

"I thought you said you were the _good guys_."

"I never said that," Marik replied. "Maybe you just wanted to think that you were on the right side, but believe me, there _are_ no good guys here. That bitch is probably better off—"

Marik caught Ryuuji's fist full on the jaw, and he crashed back into the doorframe, too surprised to do much more than keep himself standing. Anticipating a return blow, Ryuuji was already taking a step back when Ishizu caught him by the hair and pulled him back, getting an arm around his neck in a chokehold. She didn't hit him, but she wasn't gentle either, her voice menacing as she leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"If you want to oppose us, be my guest," she said. "But _he's _off limits. I don't care what he says, I don't care if you're in shock: touch my brother again and I'll let him destroy you. Understand?"

Ryuuji wasn't in shock; he was just pissed as hell, but he could push his anger away until he knew who to take it out on. "Fine," he said, relaxing. "Fine."

Ishizu let go, and Ryuuji carefully straightened his ponytail, turning away so that he didn't have to look at Marik, who was laughing hysterically where he sat in the doorway.

"I assume you're all right," Ishizu said icily.

"Never been better."

She nodded and turned to Ryuuji, her hand firmly on her gun. "We're going to find a private location and then we're going to have a conversation, you and I. Will you cooperate, or should we use force?"

When Ryuuji looked once more at the girl in the bed, Ishize sighed and said pointedly, "Now that we've cleared out the building, the police will take over. They'll have her sent to the hospital once they find her."

Shrugging his shoulders, Ryuuji tried to look nonchalant as he mumbled an assent. He was deeply shaken. Bakura had lied. Whatever game he was playing, Ryuuji was a part of it now, and running was out of the question. He had to see this thing through one way or the other, at least until he understood just how much danger he was in. Being in a coma was just as bad as dying. Might even be worse.

The drive back into the city was silent, which Ryuuji didn't mind in the least. He didn't think he could stand one more person talking down to him.

He didn't think about the girl, or what the Ishtars had told him. That would require wondering if Tristan had known what would happen-what was happening-and he couldn't wonder that. But he would have to make a decision soon, and he had to think about _something_. He remembered again how Tristan had implied that there were some things he _couldn't _tell Ryuuji. The vampire in the store had done the same, had even implied that Ryuuji was the only person who could have received her message. Did that mean the Ishtars were right, and that they were working together? And to what end?

_He used it on himself. _

"He" was Bakura, that much was clear. But what did he use? Logic dictated that the vampire was talking about the Millennium Ring, but that didn't make sense either. Why would a vampire use a vampire-killing device on himself? And how? There were missing pieces to this puzzle, but Ryuuji was afraid that he'd die if he didn't figure it out.

He stared out the window at the passing city. It was a horrible view: grey and dismal, with anything worth looking at obscured by poorly constructed office buildings. He shoved his hands in his pockets and found a stray die, which he turned over and over in his hand as he thought.

There were no possible alternatives. If both sides were working against Bakura, it was in his best interest to oppose him, too. But that getting involved, at least until he could figure out how to get out of this convoluted mess. If he could do that, it didn't matter which side ended up winning.

He glanced at the front of the van and sighed. It _would_ matter. As much as he disliked the Ishtars, he didn't want them to _die_, but he wasn't about to wish that fate on Tristan, either. He'd just have to play the game for a while and keep his eyes open.

After all, it's not like he trusted either side to begin with.

* * *

**X. The Wheel of Fortune**. Life goes in cycles, and you need to accept the bad along with the good. You should not simply accept what life has to offer, but roll with the punches and make the best of a bad situation.

_A/N: Apologies to those following for the lack of updates! Life has been kicking my butt lately._


	7. Temperance

**6. Temperance**

"_The truth is balance, but the opposite of truth, _

_which is unbalance, may not be a lie_**.**_" _

— _Susan Sontag_

Cooperating with the Ishtars turned out to be harder than Ryuuji expected.

Yes, there was the condescension, the expectation that he'd do whatever they said, the silent arguments, the sly insults, the over-simplified explanations—but Ryuuji had seen those already, had stretched his patience to its breaking point to accommodate their faults. What he couldn't stand was the assertion, repeated again and again and again, that they'd _saved_ his life, that he _owed_ them, that he had to make the _right _decision.

Were they on the right side? Maybe. But that didn't mean Ryuuji was going to give them what they wanted for free. No one who had to justify themselves like that could possibly be the big damn heroes they said they were.

So far, he'd managed to keep his tongue in check. Ishizu had driven them to an unfamiliar location—Ryuuji had paid attention, and he thought he could place himself on a map if (when) he managed to get out of here—and then Marik had insisted on eating lunch. Expecting them to serve him something Middle-Eastern, Ryuuji found himself disappointed when all he received was a sandwich. Granted, they'd put some strange bean paste on it instead of meat, but it wasn't anything approaching exotic. Eating did, however, provide Ryuuji with a reason to keep his mouth shut as Ishizu, with exaggerated patience, explained to him just how killing the vampire had been a mercy. As it turned out, the situation at the souvenir shop had happened a few times before.

"About three years ago, we killed a vampire who'd been feeding on a young girl—she was quite verbal, but even then she found it difficult to tell us what we'd already started to understand." Ishizu sat cross-legged on Ryuuji's left, her back against the front seat. She'd understood almost immediately that Ryuuji wasn't about to tell them anything without more explanation, and she agreed, albeit reluctantly, to give him a short narrative in a matter-of-fact tone that would have bored him if his life hadn't been on the line.

"Bakura is controlling these vampires," she said. "In most cases, against their will. Since they can't do anything to help us, many of them have gone out of their way to let us find them, hoping that we'd kill them and somehow thwart Bakura's tactics. Their humans, however, had a little more freedom—apparently the chain of control can only go so far—and they started to relay messages. Nothing dangerous to Bakura—they couldn't tell us anything like that, but small details. That's how we know his name, or that he's in this country. It's how we knew to look for you after we'd killed—" She cut herself off and turned to Marik.

"Yugi," he supplied. He'd been oddly somber since they'd left the store.

"Yugi," she repeated. Turning back to Ryuuji, she folded her hands in her lap and continued placidly. "But Bakura's caught on to that strategy. His vampires rarely fraternize with humans now, because they only…well, you saw what happened." She fixed her gaze on Ryuuji. "You see, you're the first human we've seen alive in almost a year. In the company of a vampire, I mean."

Absently, Ryuuji rubbed his wrist. It had stopped hurting after they'd left the store, but he wasn't sure why. "So you must think I have all the answers."

"You must know something. A detail that might seem insignificant to you could be the key to finding him."

"He can't be that hard to find."

"Sure he can," Marik interjected. "His network was enormous. He can create more vampires whenever he wants."

It was a valid point. But still, Bakura hadn't seemed _that _hard to find. After all, Ryuuji had talked to him twice in as many days, had even seen him in _person_ yesterday—either the Ishtars were closer than they thought, or Bakura knew something they didn't. Either way, it begged the question: why hadn't Bakura killed him?

"What about the Ring?" he asked. "Isn't that how he's controlling them?"

Ishizu leaned back and folded her arms, her eyebrows drawing down in displeasure. Marik shrugged and spread his hands. "That seems like the obvious answer, doesn't it?" he said. "But vampires can't use the Millennium Items."

"Well Bakura must have found a way." How else did it explain the message from the vampire at the store? "What does it do?"

"It's a compass," Ishizu said stonily, and Marik cast a worrying glance in her direction.

"In the past, we used it to find vampires," he said. "Since it was stolen, we've had to rely on the Ishizu's visions and old-fashioned detective work. But like I said, it doesn't matter. Vampires can't use the Items. They can't even touch them. They're holy relics."

Now that Marik mentioned it, Ryuuji couldn't remember if Bakura had touched the Ring in the hospital. But still, he'd been _wearing_ it, and not just for show. He had to use it for something. But how could you use a compass on yourself? "That's all it does?" he asked. "It doesn't do anything else?"

"It drains their life force," Marik said. "All of them do that. It would be absolutely useless to him."

"Well, he must have stolen it for a reason."

"Of course he had a reason. It's been impossible to find him without it. Until now." Marik leveled his gaze toward Ryuuji. "Why do you think we need you?"

Crossing his arms, Ryuuji took another look at Ishizu. She'd clammed up when he'd mentioned the Ring. These two weren't just driven by a sense of justice. For her at least, this was personal. Marik _had_ mentioned that Bakura had killed their whole clan. At the time, Ryuuji had assumed that they'd merely been casualties of an ongoing war between two factions. Now things felt different. Bakura wasn't just fighting the Ishtars, he was _hunting_ them.

Wouldn't telling them what he knew be playing right into Bakura's hand?

He stalled. "First tell me why you bothered blackmailing me into helping you when instead of just _explaining_ all this to begin with."

"You wouldn't have believed us," Marik said. "You still don't."

It sounded like a convincing argument, except for one thing: if the Ishtars had approached him with this story from the beginning, Ryuuji probably _would_ have believed them. Bakura had never pretended that he planned anything short of murder. That alone swung the balance in the Ishtar's favor.

Tristan was the wild card. He'd professed dislike for both parties, and had seemed more concerned with saving Ryuuji's life than relaying any sort of message. In fact, the only thing he had told Ryuuji before he escaped was _not_ to get involved. Considerate, but completely useless as far as conspiracies went.

"Maybe I would believe you," Ryuuji said. "If you seemed like you actually cared about saving lives."

Immediately Marik bristled, but Ishizu spoke before he got a chance to respond, her tone wary: "And what do you think we care about?"

It was a guess, but given the circumstances, Ryuuji thought it was a good one. "Revenge."

He was watching Ishizu's reaction, not Marik's, so he saw her flinch even as Marik slammed a palm against the ground.

"This is ridiculous," he said. "You don't care about saving lives any more than I do—you're just looking for reasons not to tell us what you know."

Ryuuji shouldn't have responded, but it was such a weak argument, he couldn't help it. "So you _admit_ you don't care—"

"And you do?"

"Of course I do! You can't just—" Ryuuji cut himself off.

It was a trap. Of _course_ it was a trap; Marik had already proved himself Ryuuji's equal when it came to verbal manipulation, but Ryuuji had already said too much and he had no choice but to sit there as Marik bared his teeth in a grin.

"…Kill people?" he suggested. "I find it ironic that a_ murderer _is lecturing me about civic responsibility."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Ryuuji said. "If you didn't have _that_ to hold against me—"

"But I do." Grin spreading, Marik leaned forward. "Or are you going to deny that you did it?"

This time, Ryuuji didn't defend himself. Marik had no business meddling in his past. True or false, it didn't help his case. "Only if you deny that you _enjoyed_ killing a woman this morning."

_That_ caught Marik off guard. He hid it well behind a growing grin, but Ryuuji had seen his eyes flare, and his words held a dangerous edge that hadn't been there before. "I enjoyed killing a _monster_."

"You can't justify-"

"The hell I can. She was already dead."

"You don't know what it's like—"

"I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT'S LIKE!" If they'd been anywhere but the back of a van, Marik would have been on his feet. As it was, he'd risen to his knees, arms gesturing wildly as he leaned toward Ryuuji. "You think I don't know? You think I haven't tried—"

"Marik!" Ishizu said "Stop this—"

To Ryuuji's surprise, Marik didn't hesitate to turn on his sister, his expression twisted in rage. "And you—how am I supposed to do anything when you're trying to stop me every five minutes? For_ once_, can you just trust me?_"_

"This isn't—"

"Dammit, Ishizu, _there's nothing wrong with me_!"

Marik's words hung in the air for only a few seconds; before anyone had the chance to reply, he'd pushed open the door to the van and jumped out, slamming it shut behind him. Through the windows, Ryuuji could see him storming away, a hand twisted in his hair.

Ishizu hadn't moved, but her hands were clenched so tight that her arms were shaking. When she saw Ryuuji looking at her, she smiled faintly, the expression more troubling than reassuring. "I've been too strict with him these last few days," she said. "I didn't want to scare you off."

"Understandable," Ryuuji said lightly, and her expression relaxed somewhat.

"We had another brother," she said. "He was several years older than either of us. Bakura got to him somehow—it's how the Ring was stolen. We think Bakura was controlling him, but I saw him that night, and I'm not sure—"

When Ishizu hesitated, Ryuuji leaned closer, prompted her to go on. "You think he betrayed you?"

"It's possible," she said softly. "Marik doesn't believe me-I don't want to believe it either, but it doesn't matter. We'll never know. You can understand how that makes it difficult to trust people—you have to be careful, even with those close to you. It's why we let you believe the worst about us. If you were being controlled by a vampire, or if you wanted an opportunity to betray us, it would be better if to let you do it when there was nothing at stake."

"But that's not enough, is it?" Ryuuji said. He'd meant it to be sardonic, but it ended up coming out as a genuine question. "Even if I told you the truth, you wouldn't trust me."

"Of course not," she said. "But a lie is better than nothing."

The words sounded familiar, and it took Ryuuji a moment to realize why. "Your brother told me that yesterday."

A quirk of the lips was enough to tell him that it hadn't been the first time that line had been shared between the siblings. "He always did enjoy gambits," she said. Her smile softened, becoming a little less depreciative and a little more affectionate. "Taunting you is his way of tempting fate."

"And what happens when the odds don't go his way?" Ryuuji asked. He'd meant it as a joke, but Ishizu frowned, her spine straightening as she glanced outside.

"We're not the only ones out for revenge," she said softly. "Bakura…I don't know why he hates us, but he has to have a reason. In many ways he's been more successful, but Marik…Marik feels it more. Sometimes I think—" She paused, looking to Ryuuji as if for confirmation, but he said nothing, and she added, almost too quietly for him to hear: "He's going to destroy himself if he stays on this path."

"Then why do you keep looking for him? Bakura."

Ryuuji didn't have to see Ishizu's expression to know that he was treading on dangerous ground. "What choice do we have?" she said. "He'll come after us either way, and it'd be impossible to face him alone."

Something in her expression, her bitter awareness of their situation, her admittance that they were essentially trapped, spoke to Ryuuji, and he sighed. Even if it was playing into Bakura's hand, Ryuuji had to do _something_. "I don't know if it'll help you," he said. "But I'll tell you what I know."

Instantly he had her undivided attention.

#

Carefully, Ryuuji told Ishizu most of what he knew, starting with what the vampire in the store had told him, and then going back to meeting Tristan in Oregon, the conversation in the diner, the tarot reading, his suggestion that they travel together to Domino. He might have played down Tristan's role out of a cautious desire to keep the focus on Bakura, but Ishizu said nothing until he reached the fight at the gas station.

"Are you telling me that you'd only know this vampire for a day?" she asked. "That can't be right."

"Why not?"

"No—I mean, we thought—" She shrugged. "The vampire we killed—Marik said his name was Yugi—he knew about you."

Straightening his legs, Ryuuji leaned forward and took a look out the window. If he stretched, he could see Marik sitting on the sidewalk. He was polishing a knife on the hem of his jeans.

"That's impossible," Ryuuji said. "I never met him."

Ishizu frowned, obviously perplexed. "I wonder what he could have meant."

"What did he actually say?" Ryuuji asked, glancing in her direction. It didn't seem like Ishizu to make a mistake like that.

"We didn't catch all of it—he was dying—but it was something about names. 'Find someone with a stolen name,' or something like that. You can see how we'd think he meant you."

Ryuuji nodded in agreement. "Weird coincidence," he said. "You think he was referring to Bakura?"

"We have no way of knowing, do we? Every other vampire we've come across has used that name to refer to him. It could mean that he's one of the ancient vampires, one my family has encountered before. But knowing that he's using an alias wouldn't help us."

Something about her statement made Ryuuji thoughtful. He felt as if he was on the verge of realizing something important when Ishizu added: "Though it would certainly explain his knowledge of the Millennium Items."

"'He used it on himself'—" Ryuuji said, remembering.

"The Ring? I thought it too, but it's impossible. We've never seen anything that indicates—"

"Is it that impossible?" Ryuuji interrupted. "I mean, he was _wearing_ it."

Her eyes wide, Ishizu sat up so abruptly she startled Ryuuji. "Bakura? You mean you've actually _seen_ him?"

"Yeah, I was getting to that—but why—?"

"It was only yesterday…" Ishizu said, musing. "There's a good chance he might still be here in the city."

Ryuuji frowned. Had they not even known _that_? "I thought-Tristan said he lives here."

"And you didn't bother to mention it?" Ishizu had already pulled out her cellphone and began tapping the keys. "I'll have to check the police database for any neighborhoods with multiple missing persons reports. If he was careless, we might be able to narrow the field."

"Would he even have an address? I thought vampires couldn't enter homes."

"They can't. But vampires tend to take up residence in the homes of the humans they feed on. Did Bakura have a human with him?"

"No, he was alone—"

"Did he give you a way to contact him?"

"No, nothing."

Ishizu looked up from her phone. "Why was he there, then?" She looked Ryuuji up and down, assessing. "He didn't bite you."

"I think he just wanted to threaten me," Ryuuji paused. He wasn't sure how Ishizu would interpret what he was about to say. "He wanted me to cooperate with you. He seemed pretty sure I couldn't help you either way."

"Confident of him," Ishizu said, thoughtfully tapping her fingers against her cellphone screen. "Perhaps he planned on turning you and then decided you weren't right for it. Many of Bakura's vampires have seemed a bit…unhinged."

"You mean like the Kaiba case."

Ishizu paused and gave Ryuuji a second look. "Yes…something like that. Several of his vampires had gone insane by the time we got to them. Perhaps he thought the same would happen to you."

Somehow, Ryuuji doubted that Bakura would care. "It's more likely that this is a trap," he said, honestly. "I know you don't trust me, but—"

"I understand," Ishizu said. "Why don't you go tell Marik what you told me? I need to meditate on the Necklace."

Ryuuji's eyes fell on the gold eye adorning her neck. "Will that really tell you the future?"

"If I'm lucky," she said. "But sometimes all you need is to examine what you already know."

Ryuuji understood. It was the same with Tarot reading. It wasn't so much guessing at the future than examining how your own interpretation colored the truth. "In that case," he said. "Maybe you could tell me something first."

Raising an eyebrow in response, Ishizu waited for him to go on.

"If something happened…went wrong…I mean, if a vampire gets you, what do you do?"

Her expression cleared in understanding. "Marik told you about the poison."

"Well, yes, but…" Ryuuji shrugged. He wasn't even sure what he was asking, himself. "You said it would be impossible to kill Bakura alone."

"It would be difficult to kill any vampire alone," she said. "In most cases, they'll find you before you find them, and as you've already realized, once that venom's in your body, there's very little you can do. That's why Marik and I work together."

"But if one of you does get attacked…"

"Then we wait," she said. "In that sort of situation, you just have to hope someone rescues you. The vampire has to die before you have full use of your will again."

Ryuuji felt any hopes of escaping on his own disappear. "It's impossible to do anything else?"

"Well, I suppose it's possible to do _nothing_."

Ryuuji couldn't help his grin. "It's that hopeless, is it?"

"In your case," Ishizu said. "There wasn't much hope to begin with."

It was the answer Ryuuji has expected; his return smile was self-deprecating. "Believe me," he said. "I know."

#

Once he was out of the van, Ryuuji considered trying to sneak past Marik, but of course that was impossible. Even if he could get past both Ishtars (he couldn't see inside the van, but he _knew_ Ishizu was watching him) they were still holding prison over his head. And then there was the whole vampire thing.

Of course, that didn't stop him from walking straight past Marik, just to see what he would do.

Marik got up and followed him. Absently, Ryuuji considered the comfortable weight of the gun against his chest, but he wasn't quite brave enough to take Marik's suggestion and attempt an ill-fated bludgeoning.

There was a gas station across the street. Ryuuji headed towards it, partly to scope out the area a little, and also to shake Marik, who he still wasn't ready to talk to. It didn't seem like Marik was up for conversation, either; he sulked in the doorway while Ryuuji browsed. Ryuuji didn't mind. He still had a few bills in his jacket and he'd been jittery all day. With that in mind, he bought cinnamon gum, a lighter, and a pack of Camels. At the counter, he saw a city map and tossed it onto the pile. Now he'd at least know where he was.

When he got back outside, he sat on the curb under a street light and evaluated his surroundings. The gas station seemed like an unpopular one; the entire time he'd been there, Ryuuji hadn't seen a single car at the pumps. Now that he was outside, he could see another station down the street that advertised prices at least ten cents cheaper. The sky was already starting to dim; due to the impending winter, the days were getting shorter and shorter, but the clouds sure weren't helping.

He took out the cigarettes and lit up. He wanted to look at the map, but he didn't want Marik looking over his shoulder, so he pursued his next best option: small talk. When Marik reluctantly sat down next to him, Ryuuji held his cigarette out. "Smoke?"

"No."

Rolling his eyes, Ryuuji lit up and brought it to his mouth. "Suit yourself," He didn't particularly _want_ to talk to Marik anyway.

To his surprise, Marik broke the silence within a minute.

"That stuff will kill you, you know."

Ryuuji paused, smiled. "I know." He took a long drag and sighed. He didn't particularly care for the taste of tobacco, but there was still something comforting about smoke and the way it could make the air tangible. It _felt_ good, even if it didn't taste good. "I haven't in a long time. Just got the urge, I guess."

"Like an alcoholic trying to quit," Marik said.

"Hm?"

"I told you yesterday. Vampirism is addictive."

"Ah," Ryuuji paused to reappraise the cigarette, but ended up shrugging it off. Maybe Marik was right, but changing his behavior wouldn't help it. He hadn't really been able to calm down since they'd gone to the store this morning. He didn't care whether it was nerves or proximity to vampires, he just wanted to relax. "You speaking from experience?"

"Observation," Marik said, a little harsher than Ryuuji expected. He was surprised when he glanced at Marik a few moments later. The Egyptian almost looked _embarrassed_.

"You know," Marik said abruptly. "I've seen a lot of people like you get themselves killed just because they think they can trust a vampire to hold back. They can't. Not with their lives on the line."

Ryuuji glanced at Marik, and then away again. "Is trusting you any safer?"

It was enough to break the line of tension between them, and Marik snorted as he leaned back to squint at the sky. "Fair enough," he said. "But I'm not apologizing."

"Then I won't apologize for hitting you," Ryuuji said. "No offense, but you're kind of insane."

"I know." Marik leaned forward again to look toward the van. "What's Ishizu doing?"

"Meditating." When Marik turned back to look at him, eyebrows raised, Ryuuji clarified. "We think Bakura's in this city."

All traces of friendliness disappeared from Marik's face. "I think you'd better back up and explain."

#

Ryuuji ended up telling the entire story again to Marik, this time including Ishizu's conclusions. Marik, to his credit, seemed less prone to thinking out loud, and sat in silence for several minutes after Ryuuji had finished.

Ryuuji took the opportunity to finish his cigarette. When he was done, he pulled out the gum. Now that the smoke was gone, the smell was unbearable. When he offered a stick to Marik, he took one without saying anything.

"Does Ishizu see the future often?" Ryuuji asked, playing with the map. Unlike everything else, it wouldn't fit in his jacket pockets.

"Not as much as you'd think," Marik said. "She might see something, but that doesn't mean she'll know what it is."

"Sounds promising."

Marik sighed in agreement. Chewing, Ryuuji stared across the street, where some unfinished construction project rose half-heartedly into the air. The construction crews had either all gone home for the night or hadn't come at all; the place looked completely deserted.

"You met Bakura, right?"

Ryuuji paused, taken off guard by the change of subject. "That's what I said."

"But you got a good look at him?"

"I'm not going to _draw_ him for you."

"That's not what I meant. How'd he look?"

"Look?"

Marik glanced toward the van again, then leaned conspiratorially toward Ryuuji. "About fifteen years ago," he said. "Bakura attacked the compound where we lived."

"Yeah, your sister told me."

"Did she tell you how we drove him away?"

"No," Ryuuji took a second look at Marik. "I thought you were just a kid."

Marik nodded. "I was four. He tried to use me against Ishizu." The crazed grin from earlier was starting to come back. "Guess what I did."

"I don't think I want to know."

Marik had twisted the gum wrapper in his hand, and now he clenched it in his fist and raised it like a dagger. "I stabbed him in the eye," he said. "I was holding this key, the key to our rooms, and I turned around and just—" He dragged the foil along his palm. "Vampires heal pretty quickly, but I always hoped he at least got a scar from it."

Ryuuji shook his head. "No scar," he said, slowly. He had that feeling again, like he was on the verge of realizing something profound, but the the feeling passed, and in his struggle to reclaim it, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Ishizu told me about your brother."

Marik's good humor was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he tossed the gum wrapper into the street. "Yeah," he said. "She didn't take it well when we found the body."

Ryuuji almost changed the subject, but Marik squared his shoulders and stared at the building across the street with an intensity that made Ryuuji hold his tongue. He understood Ishizu's worry. Marik vacillated between buried rage and manic sadism so often that the rare moments when he seemed calm only seemed more dangerous.

Marik tore his gaze away from the building and glanced toward the van. Toward his sister. "I don't know what kind of information Bakura got out of him, but now he's the most powerful vampire we've ever seen. He's been picking us off for years."

Ryuuji exhaled. "So when you said your clan was gone, you really meant…"

"All of them." Marik spread his fingers in a grotesque imitation of a surprised gesture. "Killed, murdered, whatever you want to call it. Hundreds of people, just gone. He's always been able to stay a few steps ahead. We've never seen him, never even been this close to him till now. It's like he's mocking us, letting us know that he has all the power and all we can do is pretend that we're getting closer, but we never are. He doesn't care if we kill his vampires, he just makes more and throws them at us like it's all a big goddamned game."

His expression was so bitter Ryuuji found himself feeling sympathetic. It was no wonder the Ishtars had been so snide with Ryuuji; he was just another reminder that Bakura always had the upper hand.

"You know," he said slowly. "I know my fair share about revenge."

Marik's eyes narrowed, and he straightened up a little. "Oh yeah?" he said casually, biting down on his gum with relish. "You gonna tell me that it won't solve my problems, and killing him will only make me feel empty inside, and I should focus on life instead of death, etcetera, etcetera?"

Feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground, Ryuuji suppressed a grin. "Ishizu tell you that?"

"Yep. So you can forget about your lecture; I've heard it."

"Fine. But Ishizu doesn't know what she's talking about. I do."

"Look, just because _you_ screwed up and got caught—"

"I didn't get caught," Ryuuji said sharply. "I got ratted out." He crossed his arms and took a cautious look at Marik. He wasn't much for talking about the past, but Marik's instability made him nervous. If he could convince him to let up... "Anyway, I wasn't going to lecture you."

Marik didn't look convinced. "Then what were you going to say?"

"Mostly that you shouldn't play into his hands. If he's just messing with you, the way you say he is, fighting back might be just what he expects," Ryuuji shrugged. "I'm not saying don't do it, I'm saying be smart about it."

There was a pause. Marik bit down hard on the gum snapped with a resounding crack. "Ishizu told me about your case," he said. "It sounded like just some robbery gone bad. But it was first-degree."

"That was the idea." Ryuuji stretched out his legs and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't let someone know you hate them," he said. "They'll see you coming."

"Pithy." Marik, to his credit, didn't ask the obvious questions. They both had skeletons in the closet; it would be no use comparing them.

Ryuuji sighed and leaned back on the palms of his hands.

"I used to be a performer," he said. "It was this little circus sideshow act out in Vegas. Sleight of hand, card tricks, shit like that. You learn a lot about what makes people tick that way." He'd seen the best and the worst of people out there, but the worst was far more memorable. It has been his father who'd suggested killing Ryuuji's employer, but Ryuuji had never been opposed to the idea. The man had been cheating the both of them for years and mocking them to their faces about it, but it had still taken Ryuuji a year to get up the nerve to _do_ it, and then he'd gone home and watched his father call the cops as soon as he'd walked in the door. "It doesn't take long to figure out that reasons don't matter. People are the same everywhere you go."

"You saying you regret it?"

Ryuuji shrugged. "I don't really think about it," he said. "But it's not that bad. Even with all all the running." He shrugged again, helplessly. He knew his dad had exaggerated the evidence to get him back home; half of what he'd seen in the papers was a lie. "It is what it is, you know?"

"You don't let them see you coming," Marik said.

The light shifted, and Ryuuji looked up. The cloud cover had finally broken, and a few stray shafts of sunlight had come bursting out of the sky and onto the rafters of the half-built office across the street. Sunset.

Marik's eyebrows were furrowed in thought. Abruptly, he stood up. "Wait here," he said.

Ryuuji watched him walk straight-legged back to the van, opening the front passenger door, leaning inside and doing something that Ryuuji couldn't see, though he did see him slip a hand inside his pocket as he slammed the door shut and circled around to the back, where he reached in and pulled out Ryuuji's duffel bag.

When he came back, he dropped the duffel in front of Ryuuji and kept walking. "Come on," he said, without slowing, and Ryuuji stood up, glancing only once at the van before grabbing his bag and following Marik down the street, through a thin alley, and into the next block, where Ryuuji saw an empty car lot.

The Toyota Tercel sat alone, unassuming and unharmed. For once Ryuuji was thankful it looked the way it did. It was probably the only reason it was still in one piece.

Marik turned to him and tossed something toward Ryuuji. It was the car keys.

"If you go now you'll be out of town by the time they figure out you're gone," he said. "Or you could stay, but it'd be faster to just kill yourself. Either way I'll keep Ishizu off your back."

Ryuuji turned the keys over in his hands, speechless for perhaps the first time in his life. This didn't feel right. This wasn't safe for either of them. When Marik started to laugh, he looked up. "But why—?"

Still laughing, Marik shook his head. "Maybe I feel sorry for you. Maybe it's a trap. Maybe I want to see what you'll do." His grin was unsettling. "You'll never know for sure."

"Seems risky."

"Riskier for you," Marik said. "But we both know that this is better."

Ryuuji nodded and closed his fist around the keys. He didn't want to know what motives lay behind Marik's sudden kindness. "Maybe you're right."

"Or maybe I'm wrong," said Marik, his grin ever widening. "Time to find out."

Ryuuji laughed weakly and raised his hand in a mixed gesture of salute and farewell, but Marik just crossed his arms, watching as Ryuuji turned and stepped across the the sidewalk, the street, and then the parking lot to the small car. Already Ryuuji's mind was racing. The Ishtars could handle themselves. He could keep going south, cut his hair. If he kept his head down, he shouldn't have any trouble going undetected.

He glanced through the back window as he unlocked the door and tossed in his duffel bag. Yes, everything looked untouched. He was set. He could sell the car in the next town and use the cash to get himself across the border.

The interior of the car was the exact same as it had been a few days ago, though those days now seemed like years. Ryuuji ran his hand over the sand-colored steering wheel, hating and loving the tawny furred seat covers, the way everything smelled like old clothes, the textured plastic dashboard. It was hideous, but it was freedom. He inserted the key into the ignition and glanced across the street toward Marik as he reached for the stick shift, but the blond had already disappeared into the alley.

Instead of the stick, his hand fell short and he felt the sharp prick of paper. He glanced down and saw a sheaf of documents, folded in half and inserted in the space between the stick shift and the driver's seat. He picked them up, his memory coming back to him. The car registration. With Bakura's name and address.

He stopped, and the memory that had been floating around the edge of his mind all day, threatening to reveal itself and drawing back as soon as he noticed it, came into focus. Ishizu had seen Bakura when he had come into the hospital, spoken to him, even, and had not said anything. She hadn't recognized him.

Ryuuji felt his pulse start to pound as the pieces started falling into place. Bakura didn't have a scar because he wasn't the same vampire that Marik had stabbed fifteen years ago.

In fact, he wasn't a vampire at all.

It was the only thing that made sense. Ryuuji had wondered, earlier, why Bakura hadn't had a human companion, the way the Ishtars implied all other vampires had. It explained why he had the Ring, and—

_He used it on himself. _

Ryuuji didn't know what that meant. The Ishtars had seemed to think that the Items only worked on vampires. And there was a bigger question—if Bakura wasn't a vampire, then who was the one pulling the strings? And where was he? If Bakura owed his allegiance to a vampire, the vampire that had stolen the Ring in the first place, then…then…

Ryuuji's right hand clenched as his wrist started to ache. Bakura had been planting all these clues and flaunting his power on purpose. He wanted Ryuuji to figure it out. But why? He was just as much a prisoner as Tristan was. _That_ was what the woman at the store had been trying to tell him.

"Shit," he hissed, putting his hand on the gear shift. He wasn't cut out to be a hero. But he couldn't just leave, either.

He glanced back at the alley where Marik had disappeared. Now that he knew, Bakura's assertion that the Ishtars were certain to die sounded more like a warning than a taunt. They had to attack, and attack fast. But first they needed to know his enemy, and hadn't Ryuuji always believed that there was nothing like a good disturbance strategy to get your opponent to show his hand?

* * *

_**XIV. Temperance: **_In a traditional Tarot deck, Temperance stands between Death and The Devil. Most commonly, it represents the need for moderation and balance in the querent's life. It can also represent the joining of forces, or of finding a compromise between two seemingly incompatible options.


	8. The Devil

**7. The Devil**

"_Nothing is more difficult, _

_and therefore more precious, _

_than to be able to decide."_

— _Napoleon Bonaparte_

"You just keeping on taking this road for a few miles." Marik spread Ryuuji's map over his lap and barked out directions as he studied the registration form. "Or-no. It'll be faster to just take the freeway."

Ryuuji's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he bit back an irritated reply. He was already regretting showing Marik that address. He had known that Marik would demand to leave immediately, but he hadn't anticipated leaving Ishizu behind. When Ryuuji had resisted, Marik had simply said "she'll slow us down" and refused to hear anything more on the subject.

Ryuuji didn't think that he could control Marik on his own. It was impossible to say no to him-Ryuuji had learned that the hard way. He'd met dozens of people who knew how to beg, to threaten, to cajole, but none of them had been like Marik. Marik could be terrifying, but he knew that: knew how to manipulate his frayed sanity in order to make it persuasive, knew that only fear and taunts and temptation combined could have convinced Ryuuji to go along with him, and he was so perfectly _logical_ the rest of the time Ryuuji could almost justify leaving Ishizu behind.

"Could you drive any slower? Or did you not notice that the sun's going down?"

"I'm worried about Ishizu," Ryuuji said. "You could have at least told her where we were going."

"She'll be fine." Pause. "Besides, if this is a trap—which would be idiotic, by the way—it would be better if she wasn't involved."

"Give me some credit. If I wanted to trap you, I wouldn't be so obvious about it."

"I'm not giving you _any_ credit. If something's going on it's Bakura's plan, not yours. But I doubt _this_-" he waved the car registration in the air. "Is anything important. There's no way he'll actually be there—he couldn't possibly have been that careless."

"Then we have nothing to worry about."

Marik wasn't amused. "_I _don't have anything to worry about," Marik said. "You, on the other hand-"

"Oh, come on. I doubt he's very happy about the whole stabbing-him-in-the-eye thing."

Marik's lip curled up in a sneer. "Just imagine what I could do to him now—you should get on the freeway, turn here—but my point is, you're the one who doesn't need to be here."

"You _told_ me to take you."

"You could have said no."

"I didn't think I had the option."

When Marik didn't reply, Ryuuji glanced toward the passenger seat to find himself being scrutinized by the younger Ishtar. "What?"

"You can't save him, you know," Marik said. "Your vampire."

Ryuuji winced. "I'm not. And he's not mine."

"Right." Marik said. He didn't sound convinced, but he didn't press the matter; instead, he pushed the seat back so he could prop a foot up on the dashboard. Ryuuji ignored him and focused on the road. Marik might be a pain in the ass, but he seemed to have given up on the open antagonism. At least he was somewhat experience with this type of thing. Ryuuji would hate to think that he was jumping into this situation blind.

The freeway was elevated and as soon as he hit the entrance ramp Ryuuji found himself suddenly above Domino, where he could catch a glimpse of the entire city. The sky was dark and heavy with clouds, but patches of the sunset still tore through in places and reflected bronze tones on buildings that had moments ago been rust-colored, casting long shadows over a city that looked dead from a distance. Caught in short blinding bursts, windows sparked as they caught the reflection of the sun and then faded back into obscurity.

The city was situated between a low mountain range and the Pacific Ocean, and past all the buildings Ryuuji could dimly see the grey expanse that stretched along the horizon. He'd been unconscious when they'd entered the city, and until now he hadn't realized they were so close to the waterfront, but now he could even see the shapes of docks on the ridge of the city and beyond them, a scattering of small islands.

Odd place for a vampire to set up base, he though. Maybe Marik was right.

As soon as they descended back down into the trap of concrete frameworks and steel cables, Marik slapped the map against his palm. "Take the next exit."

Ryuuji switched lanes. "Are we close?"

"A few more minutes. Left at the first intersection."

Under Marik's direction, they found themselves in a small suburban neighborhood. They passed an elementary school, the brightly colored figures painted on the concrete walls somehow drab and mute against the dim twilight.

Ryuuji slowed to a crawl and stared at through the chain-link fence at a broken-down playground. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Yes."

Ryuuji tugged on the steering wheel and, as if he had stepped into a current, he felt a familiar tug and a wave of dizziness. Tightening his grip on the wheel, Ryuuji tried to suppress the sudden, _vivid_ memory of the bridge, of water below and sky above, a woman with red hair and cold, steely fingers, tightening—

He must have jerked too quickly as he turned, because Marik was watching him, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Bingo," he said. "Pull over. I don't want them to sense us coming."

Ryuuji took the car to the curb, killing the engine under the shadow of a large overhanging evergreen. "Which house is it?"

Marik studied the house numbers on either side of the street. After a minute he pointed down the block, to an unassuming grey rambler with a Prius in the driveway. "That one." He put a hand on the door handle, clearly intent on barging in without any warning.

"Wait!" Ryuuji said, trying to think. It wasn't the _worst_ plan ever. But it wasn't exactly promising. "What about Ishizu?"

"She'll be _fine_!" Marik snapped. "You coming or not?"

"You can't just go in there without—"

"Don't let them see you coming," Marik said flatly. "You think I haven't thought about it? This will work-"

"A few minutes won't make a difference!"

Marik stared at him, clearly irritated. It was startling; Ryuuji didn't thought Marik was capable of this kind of recklessness.

"Do you have a plan?" Ryuuji asked. "Or is this just a suicide mission?"

Marik's mouth twisted and he slammed back against the seat. "_Does it matter?" _he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yes," Ryuuji said, exasperated. "_You_ might be fine with it, but I don't want to die."

Marik worked his jaw and thought about it for a minute. "Fine," he said eventually. "What did you have in mind?"

Surprised that Marik wanted his opinion, Ryuuji leaned back and stared at the house. His wrist didn't _hurt_, exactly, but the sensation wasn't exactly pleasurable either. It nagged at him, reminding him that he was riding a thin line. They needed to do _something_: the longer they waited, the deeper the night grew, the lower their probabilities of success. But with Ishizu on her own and Ryuuji compromised, there was no way he could let Marik go in there. Still, Marik was right about one thing: if he wanted to surprise them, the time was now.

He made up his mind. "Let me go in first."

Slowly, Marik's eyelids lowered until they were just slits, and he stared out through the windshield. "No."

Ryuuji hadn't planned on giving Marik an opportunity to disagree with him. He was already opening the door when Marik dove across the seat to catch the edge of Ryuuji's jacket in his hand. "I said _no_!"

Ryuuji put one foot on the pavement and jerked his arm, but Marik didn't let go. Grimacing, Ryuuji turned back to face him. "It's that or wait for Ishizu," he said, trying to sound convincing. "We don't know how many of them are in there or what they're expecting. But they trust me. I can scope the place out and then we can make a plan, one that involves neither of us dying because you're too damned stupid to plan ahead." He glanced toward the house and saw a light flicker on. He hoped it was a coincidence.

Marik had seen the light, too, and he ground his teeth. "Do you have any idea," he muttered. "How stupid you sound right now? You know _nothing_ about what they've planned-"

"You're the one who wanted to jump in headfirst!" Ryuuji said. "This is better. This can work."

He saw Marik's eyes widen as he pulled Ryuuji closer, hissing through his teeth. "You son of a bitch," he said. "You _are_ trying to save him, aren't you?"

"Oh, for the love of—" Ryuuji shook his head. "Look: just give me five minutes. If I'm not out by then, you can-"

"No! How much clearer can I say it? You go in there alone, you _die_."

"I'm not planning on it," Ryuuji said. "I don't want to die, remember?"

Grinding his jaw, Marik stared at Ryuuji. He still hadn't let go of Ryuuji's arm, but Ryuuji didn't struggle. Ishizu had said Marik liked gambits, and this was the only way he could think of to keep Marik from getting in the way.

"Shit," Marik said, letting go of Ryuuji and holding his hands up in an expression of surrender. "And you say I'm insane."

"Five minutes."

"Okay, fine, five minutes. If you don't come out, everyone in there is fair game. Including you."

"Got it," Ryuuji said, removing himself from the car. "I'll be right back—"

"Hold on." Marik held out his hand. "Give me your gun."

"What?"

"Do you want to use it or not?"

Cautiously, Ryuuji pulled it out of his coat and handed it to Marik, who produced an ammo magazine from somewhere in his coat and expertly reloaded the gun. He handed it back to Ryuuji, handle first.

"Won't do much damage," he said. "But shoot it if you're going to die, so I don't have to wait for you."

"Thanks."

"Five minutes."

Ryuuji closed the door, slowly so that it didn't slam, and ran his hands through his hair as he stepped up onto the sidewalk and approached the house. He couldn't get Marik's expression out of his head. He had no confidence in Ryuuji's ability to get out of this alive. Either Marik had severely overestimated Bakura or Ryuuji had just taken one risk too many.

A lance of pain shot up his arm and Ryuuji hissed at the unexpected pain.

"Dammit," he muttered, pulling the cuff of his jacket down over the bandage on his wrist. "I'm not going to hurt you."

It was a stupid thing to say, but it seemed to help make the pain fade as he stepped up to the stoop. Through the front window he could see the faint blue flicker that meant a television was playing somewhere, but he heard and saw nothing suspicious. Why should he? The suburbs was the last place he'd expected to find vampires.

He lifted a hand and knocked twice.

He heard nothing at first; the lights and pain in his wrist were the only signs that this place wasn't abandoned. Then there were footsteps—soft and then growing louder, and the door opened, and Bakura stood in the doorway.

They took in the sight of each other for a moment, a fleeting observation running through Ryuuji's mind—_well that surprised him_—and then Bakura went pale in the dim porch light, his fingers turning white as they tightened around the doorknob and he spoke to Ryuuji through clenched teeth.

"Leave. Now."

The porch light blended their shadows on the floor of the small foyer, jumping and twisting in mottled movements, and as the shadows reached them, Bakura stiffened. A familiar cold ache began to penetrate Ryuuji's bones and pound against the inside of his skull as the shadows lengthened, took on form. A dark figure rose out of the shadows beside them, a hand reaching out to casually entangle itself in the thick tangle of Bakura's hair, tightening and drawing him back until he stood almost in the creature's arms.

The vampire was taller than either of them, and broader, with similar coloring to Marik's, though his hair was shorter. Ryuuji looked for a scar and found it, shining faintly under the vampire's right eye, but his attention was drawn more to the vampire's bright red sweatshirt, emblazoned with the words "Francisco 49ers".

Perfectly inconspicuous.

"We don't get many guests here."

Ryuuji's eyes snapped back up to the vampire's face. He smiled. "I'd imagine."

The vampire gave off every appearance of friendliness; he returned Ryuuji's smile easily, his voice drowsy and melodic and slightly accented. "My servant seems to know you."

So the vampire didn't know who Ryuuji was. That confirmed Ryuuji's first theory: Bakura, whatever he was doing, was working independently. Ryuuji was prepared to play along.

"We've met," he said coolly, avoiding Bakura's eyes. "I don't think he approved of me."

The shadows around them jerked, and Ryuuji felt a cold, tangible _thing_ wrap around his ankle. He didn't look down; he met the vampire's eyes without flinching. Even when he heard Bakura give a strained assent, Ryuuji didn't look away. Finally the vampire smiled again.

"What's not to like?"

"Well to start," Ryuuji said. "He thought I was too weak." He turned to Bakura, who had gone still. "Right, Ryou?" He hadn't heard anyone call Bakura by that name, but it was his first name according to the register, and if it gave the impression that he was more familiar with Bakura than he really was, it could only help.

Bakura slowly nodded, and to Ryuuji's relief, the shadows around his feet receded. The vampire let go of Bakura and stepped forward to examine Ryuuji with more scrutiny. "Which one of my servants do you belong to?"

Ryuuji paused and looked past the vampire into the shadowy hall. He couldn't see him, but he knew Tristan was there.

Time for a little test.

"Yugi," he said. "It was Yugi." A stab of pain shot up his arm and he swallowed thickly. Outright lies were out of the question. He'd expected as much.

Fortunately, the news took the vampire's attention away from him. He turned toward Bakura, eyes glistening. "You told Yugi was dead."

"A mistake," Ryuuji said quickly. "He was captured by the Ishtars." Another wave of pain nearly made him gasp, but he gritted his teeth and rode it out. The grain of truth barely made a difference. Thank God he'd long ago perfected his poker face.

"_Mistakes_ like that are dangerously made," the vampire said, with a quiet edge to his voice that made Ryuuji feel uneasy and Bakura look faint. The shadows started to twist around them again and Ryuuji felt a pressing need to distract the vampire.

"That's why I came," he said. "I have something to tell you."

Slowly the vampire turned his attention back to Ryuuji. He studied him for a moment in silence. "Fine," he said, turning away to stride down the hall. He was barefoot. "Come in," he called over his shoulder.

Ryuuji followed the vampire inside, letting Bakura close the door behind him and ignoring his overwhelming sense of dread. His goal here was simply to gather information: to find out how the vampire was using the Ring and how strong his forces were. Marik could think this was on a rescue mission all he wanted; getting Tristan out of here might have been a necessity, but not for the reasons Marik thought.

The living room was dim; there was some ambient light from the kitchen and the hall, but the main source of illumination was the flickering glow of the television. Ryuuji risked a quick glance down a dark corridor and saw the unmistakable dim blue light of computer screens, but no people. That didn't tell him anything. Vampires didn't have to be seen if they didn't want to.

Still, it was homier than he'd imagined a vampire's den could be. If he had been feeling more at ease, Ryuuji might have asked whose idea it was to buy throw pillows and scented candles, but the ache in his wrist was persistent and he was more focused on trying to figure out how the hell he was going to pull this off without lying.

The vampire—Ryuuji didn't dare give himself away by asking for its name—crossed the room to a ratty tweed couch and collapsed into it, spreading his arms over the back and grinning up at Ryuuji. "Sit down," he said.

There was another couch in the room, but Ryuuji knew the game the vampire was playing, and he was more than equal to it. He slid onto the cushions right beside the vampire and twisted his body so that they were facing each other, scant inches separating them. Behind him, he heard Bakura come in and stand quietly against the wall. Since the vampire ignored Bakura, Ryuuji did, too.

The vampire was studying him. "What's your name? You look familiar."

"You probably saw me on the news." Ryuuji paused. Time for another test. "The name's Duke."

Not so much as a twinge. Either the lie was small enough not to count or it was completely harmless. Good to know.

"Hm." As the vampire continued to stare at him, Ryuuji felt the cold brush of fingertips against the back of his neck. "_Yugi_ didn't take very much from you."

Ryuuji shrugged, wary of either confirming or denying the statement. "Came in handy when I needed to trick the Ishtars into trusting me."

He didn't miss the slight widening of the vampire's eyes. "Is that so?" he said. "How did you manage that?"

Ryuuji gave the vampire a calculated grin. "I'm a good liar."

"You must be," the vampire murmured, and in the dim light, Ryuuji saw the vampire's eyes darken. Good. He leaned closer and forced himself to appear completely relaxed.

"You like what you see?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and exposing the skin of his neck. It was a risky move, but Ryuuji was willing to bet that this particular soft-spoken vampire had a sadistic streak. He'd take what he wanted, but not if it had been already offered.

Sure enough, the vampire threw his head back to laugh, the scar under his eye reflecting blue in the light of the television. "Well, well," he said. "You've got balls, I'll give you that."

Ryuuji smiled indulgently. "I just know what I want, that's all."

The vampire didn't reply; he reached out to cup Ryuuji's chin in a cold hand and leaned closer, his gaze intent. As he examined Ryuuji, the vampire's mouth opened in a leer that looked nearly identical to the expression Bakura had worn in the hospital. Trusting his instincts, Ryuuji kept his cool and didn't resist, even when the vampire pressed his mouth to Ryuuji's neck. After a long, pregnant moment, he inhaled deeply.

Not even years of practice could stop the shiver that ran down Ryuuji's spine.

"Hm," the vampire said, pulling back. "You would make me a nice slave, wouldn't you?" He reached down and wrapped his hand around Ryuuji's wrist, his grin widening when Ryuuji gasped. "Tell me about the Ishtars," he said. "I understand they're here in Domino."

"Yes," Ryuuji said carefully, trying to ignore the vampire's hand around his wrist. It was difficult. He had expected the contact to hurt, but the truth was far more dangerous: it was intoxicating. He had misjudged how severely the vampire would affect him. "They're looking for you, and they have the Millennium Items with them."

The vampire's eyes flashed. "So?"

"So—" Ryuuji paused as a tremor of pain ran up his arm. It was faint; the vampire still held onto his wrist, but it was enough to confuse him. He had to stay focused. "I know where they are," he said. "I can steal the Items for you."

This was his best bet of getting out of here alive. Vampires couldn't touch the Millennium Items, and this vampire already had a history of employing double-crossers. If he could get back to the Ishtars, they could take care of the rest.

The vampire looked outwardly amused, but the emotion behind his eyes suggested something darker. "So you say. But I'm not in the business of trusting liars, even those as good as you."

A rush of panic flooded Ryuuji's senses, and he was tensing to make a run for it when the vampire dropped his arm and turned away. Then the vampire said Tristan's name.

Immediately Tristan stepped out of the shadows. He didn't look at Ryuuji, he kept his stubborn glare fixed on the vampire beside him.

The vampire leaned closer to Ryuuji, his voice thick with cold amusement. "Did you think I wouldn't smell him on you?" he murmured. "I know you've got that bastard Marik hiding outside, too, but you amuse me, so I'll give you a chance to prove yourself."

He sat back, smirking at the expression on Ryuuji's face. Then he turned to Tristan.

"I want you to follow this human to the Ishtars," the vampire said. "He says he'll steal the Millennium Items for me. Make sure he does."

Tristan nodded and then glanced toward the far wall, where Bakura still stood patiently. The vampire followed Tristan's gaze and his lips stretched into a grin that showed all his teeth. "Don't worry," he said. "Bakura and I will have a little _talk_ while you're gone." The way he said it made Ryuuji's blood run cold, and he turned toward the corner.

Bakura's shoulders were hunched as he grinned back at the vampire in an expression that mixed fear and madness and desperation. With his hair fanned out around his face in the darkness, he looked positively wraithlike. "Oh_, yes," _he said._ "_I'm looking forward to it."

The vampire's expression matched Bakura's exactly, and Ryuuji stared as the shadows around their feet started to churn. The television made a sharp snapping noise and went black. He was about to stand; he could feel the tension in the room stretched thin, crackling with energy and ill will over some kind of dispute he couldn't read. Then Tristan's hand closed on the collar of his jacket and he was heaved bodily off the couch and out of the room, the house flashing by as he was dragged through the hall. Then the front door slammed shut behind them, Ryuuji slammed just as violently against it a moment later.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Despite all his anger, Tristan was whispering; his eyes kept nervously drifting back to the house. A high-pitched screech sounded as the porch light burst and fizzled out. With a curse Tristan jumped into motion again, pulling Ryuuji off the landing and onto the sidewalk. Now that they were away from the house, Ryuuji could see that the shadows were growing. As he watched, one broke off from the house and stretched toward them, the entire street falling into darkness as the streetlights burst and disappeared one by one.

"What the hell—"

Tristan had seen the car and pulled him down the block toward it. There was no sign of Marik. Ryuuji didn't know whether to be worried or relieved. He didn't know what Tristan would have done if he found Marik in the car.

"Hey man, slow down—"

Tristan stopped and spun towards him. "Stop acting so—" he stopped short and looked wildly around. Then he turned toward the car. He straightened. "Well," he said, struggling to contain his anger. "He's better than nothing."

Ryuuji was about to ask him what he meant when Marik stepped out from behind the car. He'd wrapped his jacket around the Millennium Rod, but beneath it Ryuuji could still see its distinct glow.

"You're a first-class idiot, you know that?" Marik spoke to Ryuuji without taking his eyes off Tristan. "You know I'm just going to kill him, right?"

"Calm down," Ryuuji snapped, more than a little annoyed. "You don't have to kill him."

"It's that or let him kill me."

"He's not going to kill you—"

"Ask him," Marik said. "He won't have a choice."

Ryuuji turned to Tristan, who just shrugged helplessly, the shadows flickering weakly along the sidewalk.

"Ok, _fine_," Ryuuji said, returning his attention to Marik. "But first I need to talk to him."

"First tell me what the hell happened," Marik said. He had seen the shadows, too. "Was Bakura in there?"

Wrong name, but there was no point explaining that now. "Of course he-"

"Then I'm going in."

"_No, _you're not. You're calling Ishizu."

"For all the good that'll do! She'll want to wait for the sun to rise."

"That's a damned good idea—"

Tristan chose that moment to speak up, his voice stiff. "You won't last that long."

Both Marik and Ryuuji turned to stare at him.

"What does that mean?" Ryuuji asked, but Marik interrupted him.

"Don't think I'm not planning on killing you before then," he said to Tristan. "I'm not as stupid as he is."

"You're not going to kill him," Ryuuji said. "You don't—"

"Believe me," Tristan said with gritted teeth. "You'd be better off."

"I'm not asking for your opinion," Ryuuji said. "Since this is all your fault in the first place."

"My fault?! You're the one who just waltzes in like you _want _to die—"

"_Shut up!"_ Marik hissed, nodding frantically back at the house.

Ryuuji relented. Might as well get some space between them and that house while they got sorted. He circled the Toyota to open the driver's side door. "Everyone in," he said. "We can have this conversation a little further away."

Both Marik and Tristan looked dubious, but they got into the backseat, where Marik kept the Rod pointed toward Tristan and Tristan stared stubbornly out the window. In an effort to make his power last as long as possible, Marik was only exerting the minimum effort needed to keep Tristan from leaving the seat. Otherwise, he had considerable freedom of movement.

Ryuuji drove as far as the old elementary school they had passed earlier before pulling over behind the abandoned playground. There were a few half-dead rhododendrons there that provided the car with partial cover. The pain in his wrist was coming back with a vengeance. He guessed it had something to do with the distance.

He glanced into the rearview mirror to check on his companions and saw only Marik. He panicked for a second before he remembered that Tristan wouldn't show up in a mirror and he twisted in his seat so he could see both of them.

"Marik, call your sister and tell her where we are," he said. "I figure—" he hissed. The ache had spread all the way to his elbow, sharp enough to keep him from talking as he rubbed his palm along the length of his inner arm.

"What are you doing?"

"It's my damn wrist. It's getting worse."

"It's because you're disobeying him." Tristan stared fixedly out the window, even though the only view he had was a clump of vegetation and the back wall of the school. "The longer you put it off, the worse it's going to get."

"What does that mean?" Ryuuji demanded. "It wasn't doing this before."

"He didn't know you _existed_ before."

"God _dammit_, Ryuuji," Marik said. "What the hell did you do?"

"It was the only way I could earn his trust," Ryuuji said. "I promised him I would steal—" _That _earned him an explosion of pain that started in his elbow and ran all the way up to his shoulder. He slammed his arm against the seat and covered his mouth with his free hand to keep from screaming. Even so, he felt tears come to his eyes. Dammit, he should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

"Hey-are you-?"

"Just call Ishizu," he said, ignoring Marik's startled queries. "Now."

Then he fixed his gaze on Tristan, and was surprised to see him looking back, the anger in his expression now tinged with pained sympathy.

"Don't try to tell him anything," Tristan said. "You're just going to make it worse."

"I think I've figured that out, thanks," Ryuuji said, taking a deep, slow breath, willing the pain to recede. "What happens if I don't do anything?"

"You'll go insane," Tristan said flatly. "And do what he wants anyway. But you won't have to worry about that happening. I'm sure one of us will have killed you before than."

"Should I be grateful?" Ryuuji muttered. He heard Marik talking into his phone, but he ignored him and kept his focus on Tristan, who shrugged.

"Maybe," he said. "At least you have a choice."

Ryuuji leaned against the seat and tried to gather his thoughts. He hadn't learned nearly as much as he'd wanted by his excursion into the house, but he'd have to make do with what he had. At least he had an informant now. Not that he'd be particularly useful.

"Tristan," he said. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you can't tell me anything that might put you or another vampire in danger, right?"

Tristan nodded. "Or you," he said. "Or Bakura."

Well that wasn't going to help much. "But will you tell me as much as you can?"

"Of course." When Ryuuji looked up, surprised, Tristan cracked a crooked grin. "It's not like I _like_ that bastard."

Relieved, Ryuuji smiled back. "Start with him, then," he said. "What's his real name?"

Another shrug. "I don't think he has one. If he does, I've never heard it. Sometimes he tells people to call him Bakura, but I think that's just to piss off the actual Bakura. Anyway, I haven't been around that long—only eight years. Bakura might know."

"Bakura? But he's—" Ryuuji remembered the way he had seemed to go mad as they left the house, the wild fluctuations in behavior. Even if he _had_ been lying to the vampire, Ryuuji had no idea what Bakura actually wanted. "What's wrong with him?"

Tristan glanced at Marik, who had by now put down the phone and was watching their conversation. "He's conflicted," he said, carefully.

"No shit."

"Look, if I could tell you, I would, alright?"

"Fine," Ryuuji said. "Then tell me what the Ring does."

The sudden tensing of Tristan's shoulders was more than enough to tell him that _that_ subject was taboo.

"I told you what it does," Marik said. "It's a compass."

"No," Ryuuji said, watching Tristan. He looked surprised to hear Marik call it a compass. So he hadn't known about that particular function. "It does something else."

"How do you know?"

"Because." Bakura used it on himself, somehow. "Speaking of which," he turned to Tristan. "He used it on you, right?" In the hospital, Bakura had led Ryuuji to believe that he had turned Tristan. In hindsight, it seemed like an impossible lie, but maybe the Ring had something to do with it.

Tristan shook his head. He couldn't answer that question, either. It didn't matter; Ryuuji knew he was right. He just had no idea what that meant, except that it made Bakura more dangerous.

"What happened, back in the house?" he asked. He didn't dare ask what the relationship between Bakura and the vampire was—he was sure that that topic was also forbidden.

Looking ill, Tristan crossed his arms. But he seemed deep in thought, and struggled for some moments before he finally said, "He knows someone's lying to him. He thinks it's Bakura. He's tried...he's tried this kind of thing before."

"He won't kill him, right? He's too valuable." According to Marik, only certain people could use the Millennium Items. It must have taken the vampire years to find Bakura.

Tristan shook his head violently and returned to glaring out the window. "You should worry about yourself," he said. "Even if you do what he wants, you're screwed."

"Why would you promise a vampire anything?" Marik said. "What's wrong with you?"

"He thinks he knows everything," Tristan muttered.

"_Excuse me_?" Ryuuji said.

"The vampire has a point," Marik said. "Do you even have a plan?"

"I have some idea—"

Tristan flashed him a warning glare. The ache in his arm pulsed, once, and Ryuuji knew time was running short. He changed the subject. "How long until your sister gets here?"

"Five, ten minutes."

Ryuuji turned his attention to Tristan. "Is Bakura worth trusting?"

"No one is," Tristan said flatly. "But Bakura—you should keep him out of it. He won't want to help you."

Ryuuji paused. It wasn't the answer he was looking for. He'd been sure that Bakura would be a potential ally.

He thought quickly. It was apparent that he had no choice but to do as he had promised. Perhaps if he brought the other five Millennium Items to the house, he'd be able to bear leaving Marik and the Rod here with Tristan. Ishizu could accompany him to the house and then his part of the deal would be over and he'd be free to get out of the way while she took the vampire out. He didn't like sending her in without knowing what the Ring could do, but she'd be within an arm's reach of the Millennium Items, and Bakura was only human, right? It would be two on two, and as far as odds went, it wasn't bad.

"Ryuuji."

He glanced up at Tristan watching him. His hands were folded in his lap, a thumb swerving in a constant unconscious motion against his palm. He looked far more worried than Ryuuji felt. "Why are you doing this?"

The question surprised Ryuuji. He hadn't considered his reasons. He'd just been doing what he had to do to survive, but Tristan had a point: he was far more involved in this than he had any right to be. "Oh, you know me," he said. "Can't resist a challenge." He paused, and then grinned at Tristan. "Besides," he said. "I said I'd try and help you out, didn't I?"

Slowly, Tristan nodded. He had understood what Ryuuji didn't say: that he understood why the vampire needed to be destroyed, and that he thought he could help. "Thank you."

Ryuuji forced a grin. Tristan didn't need to know that his half-assed plan had next to no chance of working the way he wanted it to. He'd be surprised if it worked at all.

"Don't thank me yet."

* * *

_**XV. The Devil: **_This card means restriction or imprisonment, in physical terms or in terms of addiction, sexuality, and materialism. Since the Devil card represents our inner fears and impulses, it's a fitting card for a vampire: a creature that symbolized repressed sexuality during the Victorian age.


	9. The Tower

**8. The Tower**

"_It is dangerous to be right in matters_

_on which the established authorities are wrong." _

— _Voltaire_

The neighborhood was dark, darker than any suburb had any right to be, the street-lamps dead, the street flooded with corporeal shadows that reached into houses and climbed up telephone poles, muting the wires as if they fed on sound and light. Only the distant purr of the freeway and the occasional pop of an exploding porch light broke the rigid silence.

Further down the street, where the shadows hadn't reached, there was an elementary school, and behind that, a chain link fence. Rhododendron bushes lined the inner wall, but outside the fence there was only a Toyota Tercel, engine humming, doors open.

Ryuuji paced along the fenceline.

It had taken Ishizu ten minutes to find them. In the meantime, there wasn't much else to do but think. Tristan had been unwilling or unable to answer any more of Ryuuji's questions, and Ryuuji couldn't compromise himself by telling Marik his plan. Not that it would have made a difference. Marik's attention was almost solely on the Millennium Rod.

It had become clear that the Rod's powers were not sustainable forever. Over the course of their wait, Marik's grip on the Rod had tightened, his respiration quickened, his eyes glazed. Tristan wasn't faring much better; he was growing increasingly restless, avoiding Ryuuji's frequent glances in his direction. Whenever the Rod's influence did end, it'd take a light touch to keep him from attacking anyone out of sheer starvation. Time was running out.

Ryuuji's wrist was a constant reminder of that fact. The pain had faded to a dull ache while they waited for Ishizu, but when the van came roaring out of the darkness it immediately flared back into that insistent, nudging pulse.

Ishizu parked on the street, and when she finally stalked around the fenceline, demanding to know _exactly_ what they thought they were doing, Ryuuji was too distracted to give her a decent explanation.

Marik, who also seemed unfazed by his sister's apparent wrath, leaned against the trunk of the car and took over the responsibility of debriefing her. Ryuuji didn't volunteer any information, opting to study Ishizu's reactions instead. He avoided looking at Tristan, who was still sitting in the backseat with the car door open. If Tristan knew, or even guessed, what Ryuuji had in mind, he'd no doubt try to stop him.

Ishizu, pragmatist that she was, instantly arrived at the same conclusion it had taken Ryuuji ten minutes to reach. Crossing her arms, she addressed him instead of her brother.

"Bakura didn't bite you?"

Ryuuji shifted position to face her fully. He had hoped to at least _try_ to reason with her, but that was looking like less and less of an option. "No."

"Then all we have to do is interrupt the chain of command."

It was the easiest solution, and Ryuuji knew it. Killing Tristan freed both Marik and Ryuuji to do what they wanted and improved their odds significantly. But Ryuuji would rather gamble on the odds he already had. "If you kill him," he said. "I won't help you."

Marik laughed, but Ishizu regarded him for a long moment, one that gave him just enough hope that she would take him seriously when she said, flatly, "We don't need your help."

Marik only laughed harder. "Told you," he said. "You shouldn't have bothered."

Ryuuji watched as Ishizu glanced at her brother. When her gaze flickered back to him, he tried to look trustworthy as he silently conveyed his thoughts toward her. But they weren't siblings with years of history, and if she understood what he was planning, she didn't like it.

"Do you think we have _any_ room for error?" she snapped. "This is our best option, and we have no reason to resort to a lesser one. Sentiment has no place here."

"So prove it," Ryuuji said, grinning when he saw the slight widening of her eyes. _That_ got her attention. "You might be cold-blooded, Ishtar, but that's one bluff I'm willing to call."

Her lips tightened, but Tristan didn't give her a chance to respond.

"Ryuuji." He kept his eyes fixed on the Marik as he spoke, but he leaned out the door toward them, one foot planted on the asphalt. His words were carefully phrased; he couldn't tell Ryuuji to do anything that went against the vampire's direct order to steal the Items. "Don't be stupid."

Ryuuji couldn't help laughing. _"_A little late for that." As he spoke, he lifted his hands to rub his wrist. _Almost_. "You think she's right?"

"She's not wrong." Tristan tore his eyes away from Marik to give Ryuuji a meaningful look. "If you want to get anything done, you have to do it now."

His words were vague, but Ryuuji knew what he meant; it was in everyone's best interest if Tristan died. Too bad. Ryuuji had already made his choice. It was up to Ishizu to make hers, but he wasn't going to turn back now, no matter what she decided. He didn't trust his fate to anyone but himself.

And it was time to up the ante.

Marik's attention was on Tristan, and Ishizu was too far away to stop Ryuuji as he reached inside his jacket. In one smooth motion, he pulled out his Beretta and pointed it at Marik. There was barely two feet between the barrel of the gun and Marik's skull. It would be impossible for him to miss. "I have a better idea," he said loudly. "We do this my way, and nothing happens to your brother."

Marik rolled his eyes toward Ryuuji, his teeth bared in a foreboding grin. "You shouldn't have done that."

Behind him, Ryuuji could hear Tristan demanding to know what the hell he was thinking. Ishizu, however, said nothing; her impassive grey eyes said it all.

"This _is_ loaded, if you were wondering," he said. "Ishizu, I'm giving you a chance to save a life. Take it."

It only took a moment. Ishizu's lips grew thinner; her skin paled. Almost imperceptibly, she nodded. Then she reached for her gun.

Marik understood her intent before Ryuuji did. "You _fucking bitch—"_

Ryuuji saw Marik's grip on the Rod tighten, his whole body tensing as he started to turn. Ryuuji was unprepared; he heard the report of a gun and then the Rod clattered onto the asphalt. It took Marik longer to fall; he folded over himself slowly, like a tent collapsing, but his eyes never left his sister's.

She stood still as a pillar, her expression grim, the smoke rising from the gun in her outstretched hands. No curse Marik could have used was a match for the fury emanating from his eyes.

Shaking, Ryuuji lowered his own gun. He'd hoped that Ishizu had realized his intentions, but to shoot her own _brother_—

Marik had begun to scream, in an unintelligible barrage of words that Ryuuji thought was just pain and fury talking until he saw Ishizu's pallid face, her frantic, almost fearful expression, and realized Marik had fallen back on his native language.

He stepped forward, hoping to redeem the situation or at least get Marik to shut up, but Ishizu saw him moving and the gun jerked toward him.

For one frantic moment, Ryuuji stood stock-still, and then Ishizu said, calmly, "Keep him off my brother."

Ryuuji swore and spun around. He had forgotten about Tristan.

Originally, Ryuuji had planned on shooting Marik in the shoulder again; somewhere non-fatal that would incapacitate him. Ishizu, who'd had far less time to aim and a greater distance to cover, had no choice but to aim for the torso. It had been more than enough to put Marik out of commission, but it had also made him immediately lose control of the Millennium Rod.

As it was, Tristan was bent nearly double, one hand covering his mouth. The other, pressed against the doorframe, was the only thing keeping him in place.

Without thinking, Ryuuji stretched out a hand, but it had barely touched Tristan's shoulder before the vampire flinched violently back, his hand tightening until the metal under the door began to bend, a muffled, frantic noise escaping from between his fingers. Ryuuji took the hint. Stepping carefully out of reach, he made sure he was between Tristan and Marik before he chanced a look at what Ishizu was doing.

She was standing over her brother, the gun held loosely in one hand, the other outstretched toward Marik. He hardly seemed to notice; the only difference was that his ranting screams now included a few choice words in English, included, no doubt, for Ryuuji's benefit. Still, the barrage of profanities was enough to tell Ryuuji that while Marik might be injured, he certainly wasn't dying anytime soon.

Ishizu's expression was impassive, but Ryuuji had learned by now that her expression was a poor indicator of what she was thinking or feeling.

"Marik," she said calmly, "Either you let me help you, or you can fight off a starving vampire by yourself."

So she _had_ understood. Ryuuji hadn't thought she'd go for what was clearly a far more risky plan, but apparently her desire to keep her brother from fulfilling his self-destructive vendetta for revenge had outweighed her need for a foolproof plan.

Marik had seemed to realize it, too, and the string of Arabic only increased in volume until she sighed and said, pointedly, "Ryuuji?"

With a wary glance toward Tristan, who hadn't moved, Ryuuji took the few steps forward to stand at Ishizu's side. The Rod was lying abandoned just out of Marik's reach, and Ryuuji carefully kicked it a little farther, as Ishizu spoke quietly, ignoring her brother.

"If we get him into the van, the vampire won't be able to get in, and he'll have to stay to make sure Marik doesn't follow us. Is that enough?"

"That should be fine," he said, with another glance toward Tristan. Then he looked at Marik.

He had stopped yelling to listen to their conversation, and rolled into a half-crouching position, one hand pressed against his ribs, on the right side. There was a lot more blood than Ryuuji had expected. Ishizu had aimed too well.

Marik saw him looking and his lips split in a pained grin. There was blood on his teeth. "Don't let them see you coming, huh?" he said, his voice hoarse. "Not bad."

He was angry-angry enough to kill, angry enough to kill himself fighting back-and Ryuuji found he couldn't meet Marik's eyes.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Tristan make an involuntary jerk forward. They needed to hurry. He lifted his head to say as much to Ishizu, but she was already moving, her jaw tightening as she took a quick step forward and struck Marik's head with the butt of her gun. Even if he had seen her coming, he would have been too weak to stop her, and silently Ryuuji and Ishizu watched as Marik collapsed, unconscious, on the asphalt.

Ishizu exhaled slowly: a long, pained, breath. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't have to be the one who shot him," Ryuuji said.

Ishizu's smile was hard. "You were too close," she said. "He would have killed you."

Ryuuji remembered the look Marik had given him, of the knife he'd been polishing in the parking lot, and chose not to press the issue.

"In any case," Ishizu continued, leaning down to examine her brother's injuries. "It's better that he takes his anger out on me." She glanced up at him, her expression carefully blank. "I can take him to the van. You'd better make sure that you have everything you need."

Ryuuji hesitated. "The Millennium Items-"

Her expression didn't change as she reached up and unlatched the Necklace around her neck, holding it out to him as if it weren't the only object protecting her from potential death. Hesitantly, Ryuuji took it from her hands, his gut twisting in a brief expression of panic. She'd decided to trust him completely. If _anything_ went wrong—

The gold links dangled from his fingers, uncomfortably hot against his skin. He turned back toward the car, careful not to approach any closer than necessary. "Tristan," he said. "You only have to make sure I steal the Items, right?"

Tristan's answer was a nearly unintelligible growl. Ryuuji waited and finally he heard Tristan mutter: "You can't save _everyone-_"

"I'm not going to," Ryuuji said. "If Ishizu and I leave with the Items," he said. "Can you make sure Marik stays here?"

Tristan didn't reply. This close, Ryuuji could see just how badly he was trembling. It was taking Tristan all he had to stay in place.

"Think about it this way," Ryuuji said. "If he comes after us, he'll get in the way. You won't be violating anyone's instructions. If you just wait five, ten minutes—"

Tristan's laugh caught in his throat. "And then what?" he said, lifting his head to look Ryuuji in the eyes. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but it won't—"

"Look, just trust me—" The ache in Ryuuji's wrist had deepened; his head had started pounding. He couldn't stay here much longer. "Please."

Tristan's jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with a feverish glaze Ryuuji was afraid to put a name to. Slowly, Tristan closed his eyes again, bowing his head as a visible shudder ran through his shoulders. His voice was low. "You won't be able to help her," he said. "But maybe Bakura—he'll know what to do."

Ishizu had carried Marik to the van by now, and was standing beside it, waiting for Ryuuji to come and retrieve the Items before she locked it. Ryuuji took in the scene and reformulated. Tristan was right—he couldn't do anything to willfully betray the vampire. As things were now, he wasn't going to waste his strength by struggling. It would be better not to force his luck. He needed to go with the current, gain momentum and diverge when it was completely necessary and least expected.

With that thought in mind, he moved quickly. He found the Millennium Rod on the ground, but it proved even hotter than the Necklace, burning his fingers when he tried to pick it up. Compromising, he shoved Ishizu's Necklace into his jacket and used his teeth to pull the edge of his sleeve over his palm. Keeping his own gun in his left hand, he picked up the Rod and retreated to the Toyota, where he pulled open the front door and grabbed his duffel bag. If he couldn't touch the Millennium Items without getting burned, he was going to need some way to carry them. He shoved the Rod and Necklace inside.

As he started to lift his hand, his fingers brushed against something warm and he paused. Glancing up toward the van where Ishizu waited, he picked up his Tarot deck, flipping through the cards before he found the one he wanted. It was torn almost in half from wear, and he folded it along the tear before shoving the card in his pocket and tossing the rest of the cards back in the bag.

When he reached the van, he took a quick look at Marik's condition. The Egyptian was stretched out on a futon in the back, his shirt pushed up to his chest, Ishizu's slim fingers working quickly to stem the bleeding. Ryuuji wasn't a medical expert, but what he saw didn't bode well; there was a lot more blood than he was comfortable with, especially considering Tristan's condition and proximity. When Ishizu saw him looking, she nodded toward the driver's seat.

"They're in that bag up there."

Obediently Ryuuji circled the van to get in through the front, where he found the Items and transferred them to his duffel bag. Six, all told. With the Ring in Bakura's hands, that made seven.

He returned to Ishizu's side. "We'd better go." The longer they waited, the worse their odds were. The night was only going to get darker.

Ishizu had resorted to silently regarding her brother's prone body. Whatever she thought of events so far, or Ryuuji's methods, he couldn't tell by looking at her expression. It made him nervous. "Is he okay?"

Ishizu shrugged one shoulder without a sound, and, with one last look back at Marik, she reached out to slam the door shut. She didn't bother locking it. Apparently she thought that part didn't matter.

Thoughtfully, Ryuuji hoisted the duffel onto his shoulder and guided them away from the clearing. He'd have to trust that if Marik woke up, he would use his common sense and stay put: if Tristan wasn't part of the equation, they'd only have Bakura and the vampire to deal with. It wasn't quite two-on-two, considering that Ryuuji only had so much freedom of choice, but it was close enough to make him feel comfortable with the odds. It was the timing that worried him.

"Did you get the Items?"

"Ye-es," Ryuuji said awkwardly, knowing that he held her family's future in his hands. "Six, right?"

"Indeed. You should have nothing to worry about."

Ryuuji hesitated. Though the headlights of the van had yet to fade, her face was wreathed in shadows. It _had_ to be sarcasm—but the lack of inflection made him think otherwise.

"If you have something to say, you should say it."

She shook her head, her dark hair swaying around her face. "I doubt anything I have to say would be helpful."

There it was again—it _should_ have been sarcasm, but she wasn't saying it like it was. Still, she was right. They didn't have time for an impromptu interrogation. "Then by all means," he said, gesturing with the gun in his hand. "Let's go."

She stepped forward, and then they were walking single file down the sidewalk. After a few seconds, the van's headlights faded. Ishizu was only an arm's length away, but even at that length, it was nearly impossible to see her; darkness enveloped the entire street, every streetlamp and porch light as far as he could see reduced to nothing but faint sparks. It wasn't quite pitch black, as the light from the city reflected against the clouds and allowed Ryuuji to catch dark moving shapes that might have been people or vampires or just strands of the moving shadows. There was a little more light from the flickering of cars passing on the freeway behind them, but it barely made a dent in the gloom.

The sounds of the street were unbearably quiet—almost muffled—and Ryuuji was starting to wonder if anyone else even lived on this street, or if the shadows swallowed sound as well as light. He didn't dare ask Ishizu about it—he didn't know if he'd trust her answer anyway. But it was impossible not to notice the way the tap of their shoes against the pavement got quieter and quieter the closer they got to the house, or the way it became impossible to hear the sounds of their own bodies moving. If it wasn't for the constantly moving silhouette in front of him, Ryuuji would have doubted that Ishizu was there at all.

Finally he asked the question that had been nagging him all evening. "Your Necklace—" he said, his voice sound abnormally loud in the supernatural stillness, "Did it show you what would happen?" He'd assumed that she'd known his plans; up until the moment she pulled the trigger, he'd been sure she would try to stop him.

Her voice was soft. "The Millennium Necklace cannot predict human fate."

"…just vampires, then."

"Yes."

"So you must have seen—"

"Of course not," she interrupted. "Some futures are always uncertain."

There was something she wasn't telling him. "But if you saw something certain—"

"Ryuuji."

The urgency of her voice caught him off guard, and he was waiting for the rest of her sentence when another voice erupted out of the darkness. "You're back."

Startled, Ryuuji stopped short, tightening his grip on the gun. Then he realized whose voice it was, and he spun around, looking for the speaker. Beside him, Ishizu drew closer to his side.

"Bakura?" he said. "Are you alone?"

"You aren't." Bakura's tone had lost all its snide humor. It seemed completely absent of any emotion whatsoever.

Ryuuji twisted, searching for the source of the voice—it seemed to be coming from all directions, and he couldn't do anything _blind_, damn it all.

Then he remembered. "Tristan said-he said you'd know what to do."

"Is that so."

It was a statement, not a question, and Ryuuji paused, because something about the finality of Bakura's words worried him, but he caught a swift movement on his left and took a step back, swinging the gun around. "Shit—"

In the darkness he'd lost track of Ishizu, and he was about to yell a warning when something collided with him and he fell to the ground, the pavement hard and cold and stinging his palms, and he realized he'd dropped the gun, but more immediate than that was the weight on his back, the arm tightening around his neck, Ishizu's voice, soft, urgent, whispering in his ear, "Be careful—"

It was an odd thing to say when you're choking someone, Ryuuji thought hazily. He reached back, hoping to pull her off balance, but Ishizu knew more about hand-to-hand combat than Ryuuji did. Only when he started looking for his gun did Ryuuji realize he could see; the light grew rapidly, until it was more blinding than the darkness, until everything was white and he thought he had passed out.

He hadn't passed out. The light started to fade and Ryuuji finally saw the gun. He reached forward and closed his fingers around the barrel, pulling it closer as he felt the arm around his neck loosening, falling away. The weight from his back disappeared; Ryuuji heard a low thud. Gasping for breath, he looked toward the source of the light, squinting, and saw Bakura, the Ring already fading to a dull gold, the skin of his fingers smoking where he had touched it.

Bakura moaned, a long, satisfied smile stretching across his face. "That's _much_ better."

Ryuuji felt the air around him turning to stone as he turned to see Ishizu stretched out on the ground, chest heaving and eyes staring sightlessly at the stars. He knew instantly what was wrong — she was in a coma — and then he spun on Bakura, rising to his feet and clutching the gun in his right hand. Aware of nothing but the smell of burning flesh, he tried unsuccessfully to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"What did you do?"

The last of the light from the Ring had faded, and Ryuuji could only guess at the expression on Bakura's face. "She attacked you," he said. "So I took her soul."

"You—_that's _what the Ring does?"

"Hadn't you figured that out by now? But don't worry, I wouldn't do that to _you_—" Ryuuji jumped as he felt Bakura's hand on his hand, pushing it down. He didn't even realize he had raised the gun.

Bakura's next words were spoken directly into his ear. "Be careful, Ryuuji," he murmured. "Take one wrong step and we're both dead."

Bakura's fingers were hot where they had been burned; Ryuuji shuddered and nodded. Bakura was right. Now was no time to make waves. But that didn't mean that he didn't feel sick to his stomach at the knowledge that Ishizu was—

He pushed the thought away. Bakura was still at his side. His plan was in shambles, but recovery wasn't _impossible_.

"Did you bring the Items?"

"They're in the bag—where'd it go?" He'd dropped it in the scuffle, and after the blinding light of the Millennium Ring, his eyes hadn't readjusted to the darkness.

Apparently Bakura had the same problem. It took them a few seconds of searching to find it again. Bakura found it first, and he pulled it open and felt quickly inside before pulling the strap over his shoulder and straightening.

"Where's Tristan? I thought I heard a gunshot."

Focus on the situation at hand. Ryuuji had no choice but to carry on. What was the alternative? "He should be coming any minute. He's taking care of Marik." True, yet safely vague. Yes, recovery was possible.

But no, Bakura was hesitating. "He's on his way?"

"…that's what I said." He was on thin ice there, but when he didn't immediately burst into flames, Ryuuji relaxed. Tristan had predicted this, right? But he couldn't have possibly wanted—had he lied?

Ryuuji heard a soft sound; Bakura was sighing. "Damn."

No, Tristan couldn't have lied. Ryuuji must have misunderstood him. It had to be an accident. A hand closed on Ryuuji's elbow as Bakura leaned close again. "Do you know what you've done?"

What _he'd _done? "What? I don't—"

"It's not your fault," Bakura said softly. "I never tried to tell you. But still-" He dropped Ryuuji's arm. "Leave the Ishtar," he added, his voice raised. "She's not going anywhere." He started toward the house, leaving Ryuuji with precious few seconds to reevaluate the situation.

If the Millennium Ring removed souls from their bodies, Bakura couldn't have used it on himself and still be walking around. Still, Tristan had as much as admitted that Bakura had also used the Ring on _him_. It _had _to be the Ring, but why weren't either of them in Ishizu's condition? Tristan wasn't even alive, technically. Did he even have a soul to take? Or had Bakura used it on him before—

Ryuuji sucked in a breath. Bakura's odd disaffected mood had been disturbing, but he'd returned to normal when he'd used the Ring, and Ryuuji thought he knew why.

The house was dark, but when they stepped up to the front door Ryuuji saw the shadows physically recede, the lights on the street flickering back to life one by one and the silence lifting like steam off the pavement. Ryuuji found his ears ringing as they were assaulted by ambient noise; the rush of cars on the overpass, a dog barking in the distance, the hum of electrical wires.

Bakura opened the front door and waved Ryuuji inside. As he crossed the threshold, the porch light flickered weakly on and Ryuuji turned to get a good look at Bakura.

He was pale, his breathing heavier than a walk halfway down the block justified. When he turned to close the door behind them, Ryuuji caught a glimpse of his neck, and yes, there was the unmistakable bruises, the blood on his collar that hadn't yet dried, the tremble in his hand as he wiped it on his sweater and smirked up at Ryuuji, his eyes glittering.

There was something cold pressing against Ryuuji's back, soaking through his jacket and against his skin, and then he felt the vampire's arms, cold and hard and circling his waist, pulling him close against the vampire's chest.

The vampire spoke in a deep murmur that sent a chill through Ryuuji's entire body. ""Welcome back," he said. "Were you successful?"

Ryuuji didn't trust himself to speak. Fortunately Bakura took the lead. "Look for yourself," he said, hefting the bag onto the front table and opening it wide enough for all three of them to see the metal shimmering inside.

"Count them," the vampire said. "Where's Tristan?"

"On his way," Ryuuji said quickly, watching as Bakura pulled the edge of his sleeve over his hand and lifted out the objects one by one, setting them on the table. He kept glancing at Ryuuji, but if there was a hidden meaning there, Ryuuji wasn't getting it.

"Hm." The vampire lifted a hand to pull Ryuuji's hair away from his neck, whispering against the skin there; his breath freezing cold and smelling of death. "Bakura explained about all your little _lies_," he said. "But you were just playing the game, weren't you? You needn't worry, you'll find I'm _very_ understanding."

_Shit_. His wrist had started to throb again. This wasn't part of his game plan. Then again, his game plan hadn't including Bakura being some kind of damn soul-stealer, either. It was starting to look like he was going to have to wait and hope somehow Marik got away from Tristan after all—

Ryuuji could have laughed. And he'd put in so much effort to make sure neither of them would be able to get in his way. He couldn't wait. The chances of someone coming to help him were more than improbable; they were impossible. If anything was going to get done, he'd have to do it himself.

He didn't get the chance. Bakura had paused, the perpetual grin on his face faltering for once. "One's missing."

Ryuuji was just as surprised as the vampire behind him. "That's impossible," he said. "They should all be there."

"Well, you must have missed one."

The vampire growled in Ryuuji's ear. He felt a rush of panic. The last thing he needed right now was accusations. "I'm not lying!" he snapped. "Maybe it fell out—"

A hand tightened in his hair and Ryuuji winced as the vampire pulled him closer. "If you aren't lying," he said. "Why are you so scared?"

"I'm not—"

"Are you and Bakura _both_ plotting against me now?"

With a bitter laugh, Bakura shoved the bag onto the floor. "I'd rather _die_ than help him," he said emphatically, and Ryuuji hesitated, because Bakura wasn't looking at the vampire, he was staring at Ryuuji.

Oh. _Obviously_. Before the vampire could react, before he had time to second-guess himself, Ryuuji raised his right arm, the arm that still held the gun, pointed it at Bakura, and pulled the trigger.

Bakura hadn't been disappointed because he'd made a mistake. Bakura had been disappointed because Tristan was alive. Because Ryuuji was alone. Because _someone_ had to die, and if it wasn't Tristan, there was only one other choice.

Ryuuji had guessed why when they'd entered the house. If Bakura was stealing souls, those souls had to go _somewhere_, and it only made sense that Bakura would somehow host them. Somehow the vampire was getting his strength from those souls, and in order to kill him, Ryuuji had to cut his power off at the source. _That_ had been Bakura's plan. He had known that Ryuuji was a killer, and he'd trusted that when the time came, Ryuuji wouldn't hesitate to take his life.

Bakura's confidence was misplaced. At any other moment, Ryuuji would have hesitated.

But right now he was scared, and desperate, and alone, and he didn't hesitate. The bullet hit Bakura square in the jaw. It was a sloppy shot, but it didn't matter; Bakura fell dead against the table all the same, his body slumping to the floor and scattering the Items along the linoleum.

Ryuuji barely saw these things happening. As soon as the gun had gone off, the bones in his wrist had started to grind against each other and then snapped, one by one, and Ryuuji could _hear_ the bones breaking and he dropped the gun and screamed as each _snap_ sent a riptide of pain up his arm and through his shoulder into his chest.

Then the light was blinding both of them and the vampire pushed Ryuuji away with an exclamation of outraged pain. Ryuuji barely registered it; all he knew was that now he was free to fall to his knees, clutching his arm against his chest and retching as he tried desperately to stay conscious.

He knew he had to figure out what had happened—he had only precious few moments to save himself—and he forced himself to sit up and look for the source of the light. The Millennium Ring. He didn't try to stop it—the light was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment—and looked for his gun. He'd dropped it—there it was on the floor beside Bakura—he must have knocked it away when he fell-

He was reaching for it when something grabbed him by the neck and slammed him to the floor.

Anger was an emotion of passion. Anger was all-consuming. Anger was pounding veins and grinding teeth. Anger was a rush of blood to the head. Anger should have been beyond vampires, yet this one possessed a cold dark fury that terrified Ryuuji to his very core.

"You little _shit!" _he hissed, trapping Ryuuji's left arm under one hand. When he did the same with the right arm it exploded with pain all over again and Ryuuji bit back a yell, his head falling back and slamming against the floor with enough force to bring tears to his eyes.

The vampire was uninterested in Ryuuji's pain. "What do you think you're doing?" His face was inches away from Ryuuji's and his eyes were entirely black-with hate, not with hunger-and the shadows rose and writhed around them so tangibly Ryuuji could feel each one wrapping clammily around his arms and legs and chest, pinning him against the floor.

He had no answer to the vampire's question, but it hardly mattered—he couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth, his mind was a haze conscious only of the throbbing in his wrist, sharp now, spearing his lungs and crushing his ribs. He was sure he was dying, but no—now Tristan's words came back to him, crystalized in the corner of his mind that was still capable of thought.

_You'll go insane first_.

But no, the vampire had seen his distress, and now he pressed his hand, cool, against Ryuuji's wrist, and the world was crushed into a ball, as clear as the vampire's voice as it whispered cold words into his pounding skull.

Y_ou humans are all so weak_.

And gently, as if he were handling a child, the vampire put a hand under Ryuuji's jaw and lifted it, pushed until his neck was bared in a fully exposed arch, and then the vampire leaned forward, and his teeth piercing through the vein that drummed a haphazard rhythm just above the collarbone.

* * *

_**XVI. The Tower: **_A sudden change! The roles have been reversed, and things could be considered disastrous. A time of great turmoil and destruction.


	10. Judgment

**9. Judgment**

"_Liberation is not deliverance. _

_A convict may leave prison behind _

_but not his sentence."_

— _Victor Hugo_

Ryuuji _knew_ how to fight dirty. He'd been fighting all his life, and now, when he was fighting _for_ his life, when he only had mere seconds of control left, he should have had no problem breaking the vampire's hold on him.

It was impossible. He'd known what to expect, but not when to expect it. He'd failed to take into account the proximity of the neck to the heart, the speed at which the vampire could poison his bloodstream. Those few seconds had been his only chance to save himself, and now they were over: the vampire's will crept through his skin and latched onto his mind, creating a buzz of adrenaline and euphoria he couldn't ignore. His good hand clenched into a fist as he tried to stop the tremors that wouldn't stop running up his spine, that terrifyingly alien sensation of his body _opening, _ushering an strange presence inside. He was facing his own death and he couldn't even feel afraid anymore; it felt that damn good. He couldn't do anything but hate himself as his shoulders arched up off the ground, his body trying to give the vampire more of itself, but the vampire pulled away, licking his lips and chuckling.

"You _liked_ that, didn't you?"

Ryuuji opened his mouth to respond and found he couldn't. He couldn't speak, because the vampire didn't want him to, because he wanted Ryuuji to realize how easy it was to control him this way, and so, faced with no other option, Ryuuji closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he could manage, trying and failing to move, to do _something_ besides lie there and wait to die.

And he _was_ dying, he was sure of that. He was more than aware of the blood running hot over his neck and shoulder, his sudden inability to think clearly, the vampire's lips, cold, against his skin.

"You've really pissed me off," the vampire murmured, running his tongue along Ryuuji's collarbone. He was calm again, possessed with the sobriety of the executioner. "First you turn my own servants against me — don't think I haven't noticed — and then you _kill_ my host. Do you know how many of you I had to go through to find one who could use the Ring? I spent _years_ building him, and now all I'll have to show for it is your pathetic body. Do you realize how _disappointing_ that is?"

Ryuuji sucked in a deep gulp of air and tried again to move, knowing it was hopeless. Even if he could get out from under the vampire, what was there to do? He was essentially one-handed, alone and without any effective weapons. He'd hoped —he'd been sure— that killing Bakura would kill the vampire too, or at least weaken him, but he seemed completely unaffected. So then why had Bakura been so insistent on it? Had Ryuuji miscalculated?

Somehow sensing Ryuuji's efforts, the vampire laughed. "Have something to say?_"_

The words formed themselves in Ryuuji's throat, his own voice sounding like a stranger's. "The Millennium Items—"

The vampire looked up, as if remembering for the first time that they were there. "Ah, you _did_ bring me those, didn't you? Hoping that I'd let you live if your plan didn't work?" His lips spread in a grin. "How thoughtful of you. You might have a chance yet. But first tell me what you were thinking, coming in here all alone_._ Did you think you would kill me? Were you going to _shoot_ me, too?"

Weakly, Ryuuji shook his head, his eyes rolling toward Bakura's body and the Millennium Items scattered on the floor. "The Ring—"

"_That_?" The vampire was laughing. "Did you think it would be so easy? The Ring is a _toy_. I lived for thousands of years without it, and I'll live for thousands more—"

A shadow passed across the vampire's face and he looked up.

There was only time for the widening of his eyes when a dark shape flew Ryuuji and the vampire's head snapped back, his arms lifting, and Ryuuji realized that the shape was a leg, and _someone_ had just kicked the vampire in the face.

It was Ishizu. Ryuuji watched, dumbfounded, as she followed the kick with a bullet to the head, and as the vampire staggered back, she fell to one knee and scooped up Ryuuji's gun in her other hand, leveling both at the vampire with a grin that seemed more suited to her brother's face. "You're off your game, vampire," she said. "Can't believe you didn't see that coming."

The vampire grimaced, hissing through his teeth as he rubbed the skin where the bullet had entered his skull. He only seemed mildly irritated by Ishizu's sudden entrance. "You got me there," he said. "But then again, you always did like to play _dirty_."

"Really." She was backing up, trying to get closer to the Items without taking her eyes off the vampire. "I don't remember _you_ ever playing by the rules."

The vampire's grin was terrible and completely unafraid. "Watch me." In an instant he'd hurdled out of the shadows and onto Ishizu, who, despite all her experience fighting vampires, would never be fast enough to stop an attack from one at full strength. The guns went off again, once, twice, but there was no way of knowing if it had hit anything, certainly the vampire never slowed down—

Ryuuji rolled onto his stomach and fought the impulse to move. The vampire's influence was strong; but as long as its attention was diverted, Ryuuji hoped that he could keep himself from interfering. _That _part wasn't difficult—he wasn't even sure he could stand at this point. But he could barely keep his focus—the effects of vampire's bite were fading and the pain in his wrist was starting to seep through the endorphin haze.

Something was dripping on the ground. Ryuuji touched his neck with his good hand and took it away slick with blood. Another gunshot sounded, and he clamped his hand over his neck and looked toward Ishizu.

She'd fallen to one knee, Ryuuji's gun in one hand—she'd lost hers at some point—and the other pressed against her ribs. She was panting, staring wildly into the shadows on all sides. The vampire was nowhere to be seen.

The Millennium Items were still scattered on the floor around Bakura's body, but the vampire's rush had forced Ishizu into the opposite corner of the room, and the entire hall was engulfed with the tendrils of shadows that stretched along the floorboards and tested the air, daring Ishizu to step within reach. Ryuuji might still have been close enough to reach them, but he felt frozen. He was using all his energy trying _not_ to move; doing something that went against every instinct he had would be impossible.

When he found himself on his knees, he realized that his focus was wavering. _No don't you're too weak don't move. _His arm felt like it had been crushed in a vise, and he thought he might faint. His heart was pounding.

Ishizu had seen him. "Stop!"

_Don't —_ But Ryuuji couldn't just watch, and he found himself standing on shaking legs, looking around desperately for the one thing that could help — _no don't don't don't move — _and there was the Millennium Necklace on the ground, and he reached, and there the shadows came, cold and flesh-like and strangling and there was the vampire, twisting out of the shadows. Before the vampire could do anything, a bullet tore through his throat and he shattered into pieces again, the shadows striking out in all directions and vibrating to the rhythm of the low laughter that echoed throughout the room.

_And you say I'm not playing fair._

The light faded. The vampire was still standing, and as Ryuuji saw its form change shape before his eyes, he remembered Ishizu's panic, Marik's bitterness, Tristan's expression, sober and afraid. They were just being toyed with.

He had no time to wonder if it was true. He knew. He knew, because he could feel the shadows curling around his legs, anchoring him to the floor, could hear the vampire's laugh, the predatory screech of claws on stone ringing in his ears as the vampire appeared on the opposite side of the room, wreathed in gloom and tendrils of gunsmoke. If he had looked inhuman before, he was monstrous now. The shadows illuminated his features until he appeared skeletal, his eyes hollow and black, his fingers elongated into claws. There were bullet holes in his skin where Ishizu had shot him, some accompanied by a thin trickle of blood, most bloodless. Grinning, he probed a finger into the hole in his neck and withdrew it, the finger clean, and laughed in Ishizu's face.

They couldn't do a thing.

She lifted her gun and pulled the trigger, but the vampire made no attempt to dodge bullets shot at close range. There was only that continuous low laugh from the shadows, the sound all around them and far too close for comfort. Ishizu shot again, and again, her arm level, her gaze steady. It didn't make a difference. The laughter might have faltered with every shot, but it never stopped, only grew.

"Is this fair enough for you?" he asked, his laughter taunting, and Ishizu put a hand back to brace herself against the wall, her breath coming in violent sobs now. "I can't make it any easier." And Ryuuji, who could barely stand, heard another voice underneath and inside of the vampire's, older than the stars and piercing through his eardrums to rap a wretched staccato against his skull. _Too late too weak too much too tired too sick too late too much too dead._

If Ishizu heard it, it didn't stop her from shooting again, because Ryuuji saw the vampire's head rock back, and when it fell forward again, there was a hole square between the eyes, and he grinned across the room, a long dark tongue rising over his lips to catch the blood that leaked along the bridge of his nose.

"Are you done now?" The vampire asked, his voice clipped with impatience, and Ryuuji realized that if the vampire was taunting them, it wasn't because he was sadistic. He just hated Ishizu too much to kill her quickly. "I'm giving you a better chance that you ever gave _me_, after all."

There was no answer except the report of another gunshot, and, straining, Ryuuji tried to move forward. Blood spattered on the carpet as he curled forward, gasping, his hand and shirt already dark with what he'd already lost. He got a hand against the wall and held himself up, distantly aware of the sound of the gun as Ishizu shot the vampire over and over again. The ringing in his ears had gotten louder, voices screaming in languages he didn't understand. He thought he was losing his mind.

As he lifted his eyes to find Ishizu, his lungs pounding, she pulled the trigger and he heard the sound he'd been dreading.

Silence.

The magazine was empty. Ishizu visibly shook as she reached for her pockets, for a weapon, for another magazine, for anything to stop the inevitable—

The vampire's hand closed around her wrist.

"I can smell your brother's blood from here," he said. "I can only imagine how hard you tried to keep him away from me. And all for nothing."

When Ishizu's eyes rose, flashing, the vampire pressed closer and met them with a grim smile. "This won't be like last time, Ishizu," he murmured. "You're alone. No one's coming to save you."

For all her trembling, Ishizu's expression was as perfectly controlled as it had ever been. She looked pointedly past the vampire at Ryuuji, and her implication was clear: she _wasn't_ alone.

Slowly, the vampire turned to regard his newest acquisition. Ryuuji leaned against the wall and watched the vampire approach him, bracing a forearm against the wallpaper as cold fingers closed around his jaw, lifting his chin so that the vampire could examine his face. Ryuuji didn't resist; right now it was all he could do to keep himself standing.

Behind the vampire, Ishizu lowered a hand over her left jacket pocket.

"You're no hero, are you?" the vampire said at last. "I know a coward when I see one."

Ryuuji sucked in a breath and he willed himself not to collapse. "Just give me a sword to fall on."

The vampire's answering smile would have been fond coming from anyone else. He might have said something else; Ryuuji didn't hear it. Already he felt like he was dying; the screaming voices in his head and the fear of imminent death were the only things keeping him conscious, but Ishizu was staring at him and there was _something _she was trying to tell him but he couldn't tell what it was—

She must have realized that he wasn't getting it, because her chin snapped up and she addressed the vampire. "You're too confident, you know," she said. "Letting your followers run loose like that."

The vampire let go of Ryuuji, leaving him to sag against the wall as he turned to face Ishizu again. "So you want to lecture me now?"

"You overreached yourself," Ishizu said. "Recruiting servants that were smarter than you."

Any notes of humor in the vampire's voice were gone. "Kaiba was a—"

"I don't mean Kaiba." She pointed toward the corner, where Bakura's body still lay. "It was smart, to hide behind a human. But he was smarter. He knew how to kill you." Her eyes fell on Ryuuji, and her hand fell back to her waist, reaching inside her pocket. "And he noticed what you didn't."

Ryuuji heard the echo of Bakura's voice, the note of accusation in his voice when they'd entered the house.

_There's one missing_.

The vampire lunged forward. He had realized it at the same time Ryuuji did, but the vampire hadn't been outside, hadn't seen Ishizu tackle Ryuuji to the ground, looking for the opportunity to steal something.

Or hide it.

Ryuuji didn't have enough time. His heart was pounding, his head ached, his vision blurring as he let go of his neck and struggled to reach into his coat. The vampire grabbed Ishizu, who fell back, defenseless, shadows like so many demons rushing toward her and she screamed—

Ryuuji's fingers closed around something small and metallic and impossibly hot, and the heat speared through the blood on his hands and _it hurt_—

He'd wondered, when he saw Bakura using the Ring, why he hadn't seemed bothered by the burning, and now he realized why. For the first time in days, he felt _strong_; the pain in his hand and wrist and neck were stricken away and all he could see was the Key shining like a star in his hand. He staggered forward, falling against the vampire, who was already turning, but for once Ryuuji was faster, and before he could think about it, he lifted his arm and slammed the Key against the vampire's neck.

Something in the air splintered, the entire night fracturing into something electric as long snaking strands of corporeal smoke streaked out toward him and then he was on his back, the floor banging against the back of his skull and he might have blacked out for a moment but when he opened his eyes and looked up the vampire stared down at him.

Ishizu's bullets had already done part of his work for him; the Key had forced its way through broken tissue and joints until it was more than halfway embedded in the vampire's skin, and it was all Ryuuji could do was hold on, because the voices in his head were overwhelming and the vampire was screaming, trying to pull at the Item, but it wasn't enough. Ryuuji held on.

And still the vampire stared. Even as he was screaming, Ryuuji heard its voice in his head, a terrible, grinding sound that made Ryuuji flinch, an intonation of ancient names that he found incomprehensible but for the voice's immediate, overwhelming _rage_.

Just _die_ already, Ryuuji thought, and the voice heard him and responded, shaping its words so that Ryuuji understood them, echoing the sound of bone grinding against bone.

_You don't know what it's like._

The vampire was slumping forward now, his hands curling around Ryuuji's wrists, his fingernails piercing his skin as he used his fading strength with final, desperate abandon.

_You don't know—_

The voices stopped. Ryuuji barely noticed. His head was pounding, his heart hammering against his lungs in a irretrievable rhythm that shook him to the core and still everything _hurt._ The shadows twisting all around them disintegrated, the pain in Ryuuji's wrist evolving into something normal, something human, as the Key's heat faded to the comfortable cool of gold.

He looked up, and had enough time to see the vampire's expression twist into one of grief before the world twisted and shrank, the ground breaking open below them, their bodies rising, the shadows sinking like anchors into the abyss and the vampire screaming in rage as he was torn apart by the pressure, his form warping into the shape of a beast, and then a shade, and then nothing at all. The entirety of time and space clapped back into existence, and the Key clattered dully to the floor.

In the silence, the lights flickered back on.

Ryuuji should have passed out. In all honesty, he would have rather done that than deal with the mounting pain that now made itself known in every corner of his body. When he stayed conscious despite his best efforts, he levered himself onto an elbow and looked across the room for Ishizu. She was not dead, as he had feared; she was slumped in the corner by the door, panting with exhaustion but more than alive, judging by the baleful look he got when he caught her eye.

And then he took a breath too deep and got a lungful of ash. As he doubled over, coughing his guts out, something in his stomach turned and he realized with horror that he was going to throw up.

"Shit—" was about the only intelligible word he managed to get out, the rest of it being reduced to heaving coughs. When he was sure that he had nothing left in his stomach he managed to roll onto his back, giving up on moving altogether. It would only make things worse—his head was spinning and he saw no point to anything but lying on the floor.

When he heard footsteps, he opened his eyes to see Ishizu standing above him. She had several obvious lacerations along her torso and arms, especially in the right shoulder, and judging from the way she winced when she knelt down beside him, a couple broken ribs wouldn't be out of the question, either.

"You're hurt," he said.

"So are you," she said drily.

Weakly, Ryuuji waved a hand. _It's all relative_. "Save yourself," he said. "I'm a lost cause."

"People don't die from a broken arm and minor burns."

They didn't _feel_ minor. "Major blood loss," he reminded her. "Maybe a concussion."

Frowning, she leaned forward to look at him more closely. "No concussion," she said. "And if you actually sat up and compressed the wound, you probably wouldn't be bleeding so much, either."

Even with a combined effort, it took them several minutes to get situated away from the corpse and the ash and the vomit. Ishizu helped Ryuuji get into a sitting position against the wall. Against his direct orders, she found his duffel bag and pulled out a t-shirt, which she pressed against his neck and told him to use as a compress. When she was sure he had a good grip on it, she stood up. "I'll get some water from the kitchen. Maybe some ice for your arm-"

"Ishizu…"

She glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, and Ryuuji found himself unable to articulate what he really wanted to say: that he was sorry, that he'd messed up, that she had every right to be angry at him.

Even without him saying it, she seemed to get the message. "I take it your plan backfired?"

Ryuuji tried to grin and ended up grimacing instead. "A bit."

Ishizu nodded and disappeared into the house. When she came back, she bore not only a glass of water but a handful of aspirin.

"You should be fine if you don't move too much," she said. "But there is the danger of a heart attack. If you need to be taken to the hospital—"

"No," Ryuuji said. "Not again."

Ishizu nodded and waited for him to swallow the aspirin before she handed him the water. He couldn't hold it with his broken wrist, so he had to swap arms, holding his broken arm at an awkward position against his neck so he could take the glass. Ishizu didn't offer him any help, but when he was done, she said, "I have to ask—what _was _your plan?"

"I didn't know about the Ring, if that's what you mean," Ryuuji said. He cast a glance toward the corner where Bakura's body lay and immediately regretted it. He'd guessed, but he hadn't caught on to enough of Bakura's game to predict his actions. If not for _that_ lapse in judgment, Bakura might still have been alive. "Other than getting your brother out of the way, I thought I'd kind of just play it by ear."

Ishizu's expression hadn't changed, but nevertheless Ryuuji sensed the sudden spike of anger.

"Play it by ear," she repeated, her voice deliberate. "So you really did have no idea what you were doing."

"No, I knew-I figured things would work out. I mean, you didn't seem too worried—"

"You _figured _things would work out_?"_

Ryuuji found himself faltering. _"_Well—the Necklace—"

"The Necklace didn't show me anything!" she said savagely. "Just that that gods-damned vampire of yours would live through the night! That didn't mean anything! I thought you had a _plan_—"

Ryuuji watched her rage the way a sailor watches a lightning storm, half awestruck and half terrified. "Sometimes speed is more effective than a strategy," he said. When he saw her eyes flash, he added, "But if it makes you feel better, I did have a way of evening the odds."

Before she could say anything, he put the glass down and reached into his jeans pocket, struggling to pull out the card he'd put in there earlier. Sometime during the night it had torn in half, and Ishizu took both pieces with shaking hands, holding them together to see what they were.

Ryuuji had been playing Tarot for years, had told fortunes all across the country and spent months memorizing every nuance of every symbol. He knew his cards by touch, which ones were worn on the edges, suffering from folds and tears and weather damage, and remembering the image of the card she held in her hands was as simple as breathing.

A horned beast with cloven hooves, holding a chain in each hand, a man and a woman held captive at his feet, and above his snarling face the inscription: XV: The Devil.

_The Devil. _The card which meant excess, which meant addiction, which meant temptation, but most of all, which meant bondage.

Ishizu was silent for a long moment. "Did you—?"

"It's been on the verge of tearing for years," Ryuuji said cheerfully. "I'm sure all that running around tonight didn't do it any good."

It was more than that. Ryuuji was sure that the Millennium Items gained their power because they were once religious artifacts—not because they'd been crafted to kill vampires. Tristan had practically confirmed that by being afraid to touch the Tarot cards in the diner, and when Ryuuji had touched them tonight and found them warm, he'd been sure that symbolism has more power where vampires were concerned. He wasn't sure if it had actually changed anything, but as far as luck was concerned, Ryuuji knew that sometimes one card was all it took to tip the balance.

Ishizu was still staring at the image. "It was his name," she said. "How did you know?"

"The Devil?"

"Diabound," she said softly. "The Devil in Chains." She shook her head. "I had wondered if he was one of the vampires recorded in our family history, but I could never match Bakura to any of them. Even after I realized he was using an alias, I never figured it out—"

Ryuuji felt a cold chill run down his spine, and when Ishizu looked up at him, questioning, he gave a weak smile.

"Just a coincidence, I guess."

Ishizu regarded him silently for a moment, and Ryuuji shrugged. He had no more secrets to hide. Finally Ishizu sighed and stood up, letting the pieces of the card fall to the floor. "Well," she said. "I suppose it doesn't matter now."

Uneasy, Ryuuji watched her walk slowly to the other end of the room, where she found the Millennium Necklace and put it back on. Her hands were shaking. When she leaned down to pick up her gun, the chamber empty, he couldn't hold back his question.

"Will you be all right?"

She didn't look at him as she shoved the gun back into the holster on her leg.

"Marik is my brother," she said. "That makes him my responsibility."

"That wasn't what I asked."

Ishizu looked up at him then, her smile grim. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we?" She looked down at her hands, running her thumb over the blood on her fingers. "In either case," she said. "I would suggest you leave this place before the night is over."

"Ishizu…" When she looked up at him, Ryuuji said the only thing that came to him, the same thing he had told himself day after day for the last year. "Family isn't everything."

Ishizu's expression softened, an eyebrow raising in a rare expression of amusement. "Let's agree to disagree," she said. Then, stepping toward him, she held out her hand. "Give me that shirt."

She meant the one he was using to soak up the blood. "Why?"

"You forget," she said, reaching forward to take it without waiting for him to agree. "_You _still have a vampire on your hands."

Then she was gone, the front door closing softly behind her, the lights still shining in a soft glow that belied the only recently vanished shadows.

Deep in thought, Ryuuji watched the lights flicker and waited.

_#_

Alone, Ishizu walked to the end of the street. The supernatural darkness that had plagued the neighborhood was gone; though she doubted it had been noticed in the first place. If anyone still lived on this street, it was because they were wise enough to stay indoors at night and turn a blind eye to the suggestions that all was not well at the house with the Prius in the driveway. In the days to come, she hoped to coordinate a full-scale investigation of the locals and the house, but for tonight, at least, she would leave the rest of the world to sleep.

Unobscured by the vampire's shadow, the stars peeked through gaps in the clouds and gyrated through their set patterns. In the last fifteen years, she had grown familiar with the shape of the sky, and though she still couldn't name a single star, much less a constellation, she found the sight familiar enough to relieve her lingering doubts.

The first of these doubts waited for her outside the elementary school. He was not standing; Ishizu wasn't sure that he could. He sat with his back against the fence, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He was so still that he could have been dead, but Ishizu saw the tremble in his shoulders as she approached, and carefully she stopped a good ten feet away.

The vampire didn't look up, but Ishizu didn't need him to. He knew she was there.

"I expect you already know what's happened."

The streetlamp cast a faint shadow on the chain link fence, and Ishizu watched it quaver as the vampire nodded, slowly. In the state that he was in, every life form on the street must have been as distinct as a beacon, and he would have known the instant one was frightened, injured, killed. He would have understood what had happened in that house as clearly as if he'd been watching it on television, and been as helpless to stop any of it from happening.

She squared her shoulders. "I'm not going to kill you, you know."

The vampire gave a weak laugh, and turns his head slightly to speak to the air beside him. His voice was faint, but Ishizu heard it clearly.

"I really wish you would."

Ishizu wished she would, too. "Take it up with Ryuuji," she said. "You owe your life to him, not me."

"He doesn't need to know."

But Ryuuji would know, whatever he thought of her, and though she didn't owe him anything, though objectively she knew that this was the best course of action, she could not help but stay her hand. Ryuuji had made his choice, and now he had to live with the consequences. "Nevertheless."

And then, spontaneously, she added: "He's waiting for you at the house."

The vampire's head did lift, then, the meaning in his expression matched by the pure black of his eyes. He was incapable of going anywhere. Even if he did make it to the house, he'd be dying and Ryuuji, who was already injured, would be irresistible bait.

On another night, Ishizu might have been more delicate, but as it was, she only wanted this damned night to end. She balled the bloody t-shirt up in her hands and tossed it toward him. "That should get you to the house," she said. "And I expect the corpse in the foyer is still warm enough to be useful."

She didn't wait to watch what the vampire would do. Giving him a wide berth, she slipped through the hedges and walked around the fence to where their cars waited.

The light from the streetlamp didn't reach back here, and the van looked cold and dark. Ishizu didn't hesitate; she steeled herself and continued walking to the back of the van, where she pulled open the door.

Marik had gotten himself to a sitting position in her absence, and he winced as the cab light comes on, lifting his free hand to shade his eyes. His other hand, she noticed, held a wad of bandages against his ribs. There was blood, but not as much as she'd feared, and she frowned as she pulled herself onto the floor.

"You shouldn't being sitting up with an injury like that."

Marik just snorted. "My head hurts," he said. "I think you gave me a concussion."

She appraised him calmly, considering and then dismissing his unintentional echo of Ryuuji's words. "You've gone through worse."

"Shows what you know. I think I'm going blind."

"That's a lie and you know it."

Painfully, Marik grinned, and in his eyes Ishizu saw some of the rage she'd been expecting. "Maybe I should gouge my eyes out anyway," he said. "Better than seeing your face again."

Ishizu poked through the bin of medical supplies sitting open nearby. "Do you need a hospital?"

"Look at me when you talk."

Ishizu looked up. His voice was hoarse, and she wondered how long he'd kept screaming after they'd left, what threats had run through his mind as he waited for her to return. When she met his eyes, his smile was bitter.

"I want to kill you."

"I know," Ishizu said. "Do you need a hospital?"

Marik had wanted her reaction, and when she didn't give it, he shook his head, slowly. "Just need help with the bandage."

"The bullet?"

"Went right through." Marik sounded as if he regretted this: no doubt he wanted to die just to spite her. "Don't think it even hit anything."

"Let me take a look. Lie down."

Marik obliged with the deceptive placidity of a child, and Ishizu examined the damage. Now that the bleeding had for the most part stopped, she could see that Marik had been correct: the bullet had passed through him without hitting any vital organs.

As she began to clean and dress the wound, she couldn't help but notice the abnormally hot temperature of her brother's skin, or the labored rise and fall of his lungs. When she looked at his face, she saw his eyes open, staring past her shoulder at the window. With the light on, it'd be impossible to see outside, but his eyes remain fixed there, as if whatever he saw was the most impossible thing in the world.

"You have a fever," she said. "Are you sure you don't want a hospital?"

He ignored her, instead lifting a hand to brush his fingers through the hair that has fallen down around her face.

"You killed him," he said. He spoke in Arabic, and she answered that way, both of them falling back into the familiar rhythms of their native language.

"Yes."

His eyelids fluttered, closed briefly, but then opened again. "Ryuuji?"

Ishizu weighed her options, chose the safer one. "Dead."

Marik gave a low, cold, laugh. "Look who's lying now."

She didn't respond. Even if Marik felt the need to confront Ryuuji, Ishizu wouldn't let him go anywhere until morning. By then, she had no doubt that Ryuuji would be long gone.

"Tell me what he looked like," Marik said. He meant the vampire. "When he died."

Ishizu turned her attention back to arranging the bandages, but Marik pulled at her hair until it hurt, and when she turned her eyes to regard him, she found his expression as sober as the one she knew she now wore.

"You need to rest," she said.

"I need to know."

"Tomorrow." Gently—firmly—she took Marik's hand in her own, pulled it out of her hair and pressed it against her lap instead, where his fingers spread against her legs, his expression suddenly desperate, suddenly beseeching.

"Tell me," he said.

"Tomorrow," she repeated, her heart grieving as Marik's expression twisted, his shoulders flexing as he attempted to sit up, but she pushed him back down, pressing her hand against his forehead where the skin was as warm as the desert sun, and she smoothed the hair back against his skull and she whispered as she leaned over him, trying to sound comforting and commanding all at once.

"It's better this way," she murmured. "You need time—we need time. Can you do that? Can you trust me?"

Marik's eyes had closed, but she could still sense the unspent tension bottled up inside him, the potential madness that would never have an outlet now that its target had been taken from him. Ishizu didn't know how she'd unloose all that was within her brother: if she would dare to let him take his wrath out all in one murderous stroke, or if she could nurse it out of him a minute at a time for years and years, the both of them agonizing over the past for the course of their entire lifetime until they both died embittered and alone. She didn't know. She just knew that tonight, she'd been given a choice where she didn't have one before.

Without opening his eyes, Marik took a breath, and she saw him give just the slightest of nods. "Just tell me," he said. "Who did it."

Ishizu didn't try to lie this time. "You know it was Ryuuji."

She tensed at the sudden curl of Marik's lips, but he only laughed weakly and murmured, "That lucky son of a bitch."

Ishizu looked at her brother and thought of the guilt in Ryuuji's eyes, of a teenaged boy with white hair bleeding out on the hall floor, of Tristan's laughter as he asked her to kill him. "Yes," she said. "Yes."

And Marik slept.

* * *

_**XX. Judgment: **_ Judgment is the second to last card in the Major Arcana, meaning that it takes place near the end of the fool's journey. It means what it says, but it can also mean a rebirth or the realization of an inner calling. It calls for a period of reflection and self-meditation.

_A/N: One more chapter to go-I'll try and get it posted in the next few days._


	11. The Star

**10: The Star**

"_The fact to which we have got to cling,_

_as to a lifebelt, is that it is possible_

_to be a normal decent person_

_and yet be fully alive." _

— _Allen Ginsberg_

Caught under the too-bright fluorescence of the ceiling light, Ryuuji stared at the body of Ryou Bakura and waited for a conversation he didn't want to have.

He hated apologies. He knew how to say the right things at the right times, but a lifetime being in the wrong had driven him to settle for not making mistakes. No mistakes, no guilt. It had worked, for the most part. He was smart and he was careful and he was good at making excuses when fate intervened. Refusing to regret or remember the past made this easy for him, even more so when he started living like a nomad, drifting from one state to the other without answering to anyone.

But Tristan would demand an explanation, and Ryuuji couldn't think of any excuses this time, nothing except "I didn't know," and he couldn't bring himself to say that, even if it was true. Admitting that was akin to admitting that he'd acted like an idiot, and Ryuuji didn't think he could go that far. No, better to skim through the apology part and then get onto another subject as soon as possible.

After all, he had more pressing worries. Getting out of the state, for instance. He trusted Ishizu's word, but not her control over the government, and he didn't think it would be long before local law enforcement started looking for him, especially when they realized that the ballistics of the gun that killed Bakura matched a gun used in a murder last year in Nevada. It would be better not to waste any of the time he did have. Better to keep heading South, hole up in Mexico for the winter like he'd planned.

But first he'd have to calibrate. He had to find money, had to find someone to set the bone in his wrist before it started to heal-someone willing to be paid under the table. Finding the right people wouldn't be difficult, but after tonight, he wasn't about to throw himself into the seedy underbelly of Domino. He could spare the time to get a few hundred miles between himself and this whole mess first.

He was still musing when the light in the hall dimmed and the landing shook. The person outside seemed to have some difficulty with the door; it opened in a series of jerks, rattling on its hinges, and Ryuuji heard muttered obscenities as Tristan finally pushed through and stood in the doorway, casting his shadow over the foyer.

There was a long second where neither of them moved. Tristan anchored himself against the door, the handle slowly crushing under his weight, and as he lifted his eyes, Ryuuji felt an unfamiliar twinge of embarrassment, as if he'd been caught looking at something he had no right to see.

Tristan's voice was heavy. "You might want to get out."

Ryuuji looked again at Bakura's body and nodded, bracing himself against the wall and the floor as he got to his feet and staggered down the hall into the next room, uncomfortably aware of the warm slick of blood on his hands, on his clothes, in his hair, and the rush of dizziness that swamped his head, threatening to topple him over with every step.

Sheer force of will propelled him into the kitchen. He needed to sit down, but there was no adjacent dining area, only a counter with some barstools. He managed to climb onto the nearest one without falling over and then promptly leaned forward to sink his head into his arms, three fingers pressed against the wound in his neck and his burnt hand pressed flat against the linoleum in a half-hearted effort to cool the burning.

The kitchen might have felt like a mile from the front door, but in reality it had only been a matter of walking a few feet and turning a corner, and despite his best efforts he could still hear every sound that came from the foyer. He closed his eyes and hoped he'd pass out, but all that happened was his stomach flipped and he started feeling nauseous again. He'd never realized what it sounded like. The sucking. The licking. The small moans of satisfaction and of grief. For the first time, Ryuuji truly understood the Ishtar's repulsion.

He hated it, but there was no way he could distract himself. The only other sounds he could hear were the low whirr of the refrigerator and the occasional distant _vroom_ of a semi on the overpass. Finally, under his breath, Ryuuji began to count the seconds. He was almost at four hundred when the house fell silent and he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. He looked up.

Down the hall, he caught a glimpse of Tristan disappearing around a corner, a white shape in his arms. Relieved, he dropped his head again. The footsteps faded; he heard the opening and closing of a door, a few minutes of silence. Then he heard Tristan approaching again, the steps changing tone as he stepped off the wooden floorboards onto the kitchen tiles, the click of the light switch, and the sound of rushing water.

Squinting against the sudden onslaught of light, Ryuuji lifted his head. At first he thought Tristan was washing his hands, but when he turned off the faucet and faced Ryuuji, he saw the glass of water. Tristan placed it on the counter.

"Here."

Ryuuji pushed the glass back. "I'm fine."

"You're dehydrated." Tristan turned away to rummage through a drawer next to the sink. His expression, his voice, even his posture was neutral. Neutral was bad. No one was ever really neutral, not unless they were hiding something.

Might as well get this over with. "Look, about tonight…"

"I wasn't kidding." Tristan turned around with a handful of medical supplies which he dumped unceremoniously on the counter. "Drink that. And let me see your arm."

When Ryuuji didn't move, Tristan snatched his wrist anyway, putting the wrong kind of pressure on broken bones and prompting a violent jerk from Ryuuji that nearly knocked him off the stool.

Tristan circumvented his string of curses with a single hostile glare as he laid Ryuuji's arm flat against the counter, pushing up the sleeve of his coat. His expression was pinched and critical, but Ryuuji found himself relaxing as Tristan ran cool fingers over forming bruises and carefully began to unwind the hospital bandage.

"You've seen this kind of thing before, huh?"

It was only a passing observation, but Tristan flinched anyway, drawing back enough to glare up at Ryuuji. "Usually it's their neck."

Ryuuji was about to snap back when he realized what Tristan meant. If it _had_ been his neck, he'd be dead right now. Shuddering away the image, Ryuuji picked up the glass with his free hand, finding it blessedly cold against his burnt skin. He took a sip to placate Tristan and then wrapped his whole palm around it, closing his eyes as the pain started to fade. The break in his arm might have been more serious, but the burn was more painful by far.

His peace lasted only a few moments, until Tristan leaned back, frowning, and said, "You should really get this to a hospital."

Ryuuji's eyes shot open. "And wake up chained to a bed again? No thanks."

"Don't be stupid. I don't know what you're so worried about, but you're going to kill yourself if you keep running—"

"I can guarantee that I feel better than I look," Ryuuji said shortly. "I'll take care of it. But not at a hospital. And not in Domino."

Tristan's frown grew deeper, but even as Ryuuji braced himself for an argument, Tristan's shoulders slumped and he turned toward the sink to dig through yet another drawer. Ryuuji took the opportunity to take a fresh look at his wrist and probe gingerly at the most painful areas. Despite the severity of the break, the skin hadn't been broken, and he thought it would be manageable until he got out of town. The real difficulty was money. In the past, he'd relied on gambling, and while playing dice left-handed wasn't impossible, he doubted he'd be winning many games like this.

He sighed. For the next few months he'd have to stick to cards and sports. Nowhere near as fun.

There was a wet splat as a washrag landed on the counter in front of him.

"Clean yourself up," Tristan said. "I want to look at your neck."

The washrag was cold, too. Everything in this house was cold. Even the lone kettle on the stove looked dark and unused. Ryuuji didn't know how Bakura had coped. He must have spent years this way, a single warm body in the company of the dead.

He looked up. Tristan stood against the counter by the sink, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, his thumb massaging his palm in a constant circular motion. Whatever he was worried about, it wasn't Ryuuji's well-being.

"You were trying to save him, weren't you?" Ryuuji asked. "That's what you wanted me to do."

Tristan didn't move.

"Could I—was there a way around it? Where neither of you died?"

Tristan turned his head slightly toward him. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe if you died, let the Ishtars—" He shrugged and lapsed back into silence. After a moment, he added, almost as an afterthought: "He didn't think you could do it, you know. I thought you'd be more, I don't know, logical. But he knew better."

Ryuuji remembered the hospital room, Bakura's slumped shoulders, his bitter laughter. It would have been impossible to appear trustworthy when you couldn't even speak without borrowing someone else's will, someone else's words. Still, no matter how much he thought about it, Ryuuji couldn't think of one instance where Bakura had asked to be saved.

"Well, look," he said briskly, trying to change the subject. "What's done is done, right? At least it's all over now."

Tristan was staring at him with something close to astonishment. Ryuuji held his ground; he knew it was callous, but what was he supposed to say? They couldn't commiserate over mistakes forever.

Tristan must have understood that, because after a moment he shook his head, half-laughing, but the laughter was bitter and his shoulders were stiff. "I don't get you," he said. "You just choose—you choose who lives and who dies and it doesn't make any sense and the wrong people get_ killed _and you don't seem to care—it's like it doesn't even matter."

Ryuuji didn't respond immediately; he flexed his injured hand, testing how much he could move it before the pain was unbearable, but Tristan was waiting some sort of response and he couldn't pretend that he was deep in thought forever.

"Would it make a difference if I cared?" he said. "If I said I was sorry, would that bring Bakura back to life?"

Tristan shook his head, his voice never losing that hard edge. "He's not the only one I'm talking about."

Ryuuji exhaled slowly and tried to keep his voice neutral. He didn't think Tristan had known about the murder charges. "That was different."

"Was it? Whose life was on the line _that _time? Or was it just—"

"Don't," Ryuuji said. "Don't you dare ask me that, when I know you're just as guilty—"

"That's my point!" Tristan said, slamming a hand down on the counter. There was panic in his eyes. "Doesn't it kill you? How do you—how do you—"

The kitchen light shattered. In the dim light from the hall, Ryuuji watched Tristan fall still, his head down, his hands spread against the kitchen counter. His shoulders were shaking, but the room was silent and it occurred to Ryuuji that maybe vampires couldn't cry.

"I'm tired," Tristan said. "Of everything. Of running. And killing. I've...I've killed so many—not just strangers, either, and I can't…that's not…I'm just _tired_!"

Ryuuji didn't say anything. He didn't think he could trust himself to say anything. He waited, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and after a few moments he saw Tristan press a hand against his mouth, as if he was trying to swallow his own words. And still Ryuuji waited.

Finally Tristan dropped his hand and straightened. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean...it's not my business."

With one finger, Ryuuji traced the tiled pattern in the linoleum. "I think," he said carefully, "That I might have been asking for it."

As he watched Tristan's posture tense, Ryuuji wracked his brain for a way to change the subject. "There was a girl," he said. "At that store downtown. She was in some sort of a coma. She had red hair, and there was—"

"I know." Tristan turned away, staring out the pitch-dark window above the sink as if it could tell him something. Ryuuji sighed and took another drink of water. So much for _that_.

"Will she be ok?"

"Oh. Yeah. She'll definitely have woken up by now."

"The vampire—the blonde—she said to tell you something. Something about saying goodbye."

Tristan didn't much respond except for a noncommittal mutter, and he stared out the window for several long moments before he sighed and turned back to Ryuuji.

"Your neck," he said, circling the counter to stand next to him. "Let me take a look."

"It's fine," Ryuuji said, but he didn't stop Tristan from tilting his head back and pushing aside his hair. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Clearly."

Ryuuji turned, meaning to glare at Tristan, but whatever he'd meant to say remained unsaid. Tristan was staring at him, at the broken skin, at the blood, and even though his eyes hadn't changed, even though he moved purposefully, his gestures calm, there was something unearthly about his expression, and when his fingers made contact with Ryuuji's skin, he shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.

Ryuuji swallowed, and still he found himself whispering when he spoke.

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

Tristan tore his gaze away. "What?"

"Do you want to get out of here?" Ryuuji repeated. "You've got nowhere to go, and I've got to get out of town. The Ishtars—Ishizu won't stop us. She owes me."

"No one owes—" Tristan shook his head, started to say something, and thought better of it. "Don't you ever get tired of running?"

"It's not like there's an alternative." Well yes, sure there was, but Tristan meant something else, something inwards, and Ryuuji wasn't playing that game. So he'd made mistakes. So what? Hell, that didn't mean he'd waste his life worrying about things he'd already done. That was pointless. He'd just run, and he'd keep running, because if he valued anything, it was living, and he wasn't going to let something like _guilt_ get in his way.

If he kept believing that, he thought he could run forever.

Tristan sighed. "You know what I think?" he said, stepping away. He cautiously wiped his fingers on his jeans, speaking with a slow deliberation that made Ryuuji nervous, at least until Tristan said, "You just want me to give you a ride, don't you?"

Ryuuji relaxed. "Caught me," he said. "I'm just a selfish manipulative bastard after all."

That earned him a light smack on the shoulder. "Tell you what," Tristan said, leaning against the counter. "I'll go with you if we stop somewhere first."

It was a nice pitch, but Ryuuji wasn't buying. There was something else, something about Tristan's sudden compliance, that made his words ring false, but Ryuuji had no choice for the moment but to play along until he knew Tristan's true intentions. "Where?"

"Downtown," Tristan said, as that explained everything. And in a way, it did. Ryuuji let out a slow grin.

"You sly bastard," he said. "Who is she to you?"

"Nothing. No one." Tristan spoke too quickly to be convincing, but what he had to say next forestalled Ryuuji's intentions to tease him. "It's just that she won't have anyone," he said. "And you—you don't—"

"Need anyone?" Ryuuji suggested, his tone acidic. He could see where this was going, and wasn't about to let Tristan say something that he _really_ didn't want to hear.

Tristan hesitated. "Okay," he said. "Sorry."

Irritated, Ryuuji shrugged, and that settled that. He thought he knew what Tristan was thinking, and he didn't like it. Instead he focused on finishing the job at hand. Tristan helped him replace the bandage on his arm, and Ryuuji bandaged his own neck himself. For all the blood there'd been, the wound itself was small enough to merit only a small adhesive patch. It surprised Ryuuji, enough to make Ryuuji wonder if clotting blood was just another vampiric skill or if the vampire had intended to let him live after all.

Not that it mattered at this point. He refused Tristan's help as he awkwardly rinsed the worst of the blood out of his hair and gathered his belongings back into his duffel bag. Even walking exhausted him. He was relieved when, halfway down the driveway, Tristan revealed that he had the keys to the Prius. "Figured you don't want to walk all the way down the block when there's a nicer car right here."

It _was_ much nicer. Not only did it have more legroom, it smelled exponentially better and wasn't nearly as recognizable as the Toyota. It also the added benefit of being far out of the Ishtar's line of sight. Now that their common enemy was gone, Ryuuji wasn't going to take any risks where they were concerned.

"Are you sure she'll be there?" Ryuuji asked once Tristan got into the driver's seat. "Ishizu said the police would take her to the hospital."

"It's been almost an hour," Tristan said. "She'll have found her way back by now."

Ryuuji said nothing, and continued to say nothing throughout the relatively short trip. Tristan drove, and Ryuuji watched red taillights flash by and drown in the distance. He could feel his body shutting down; though it wasn't even midnight, the adrenaline that had kept him going the last few hours had long since worn away. The knowledge that he wouldn't get the chance to sleep for a while yet didn't help. He needed to keep himself awake, and as much as he hated this painfully awkward conversation, continuing it seemed only appropriate.

"Why me?"

Tristan had evidently been deep in thought; his head jerked up in surprise when Ryuuji spoke, and it took several seconds for him to reply. Even then, his response was a barely intelligible "Huh?"

"You know…" Ryuuji made a vague gesture with his hand. "When we first met. You didn't want me to get involved, so what was _your_ ulterior motive?"

Tristan sounded bewildered. "What are you talking about? I didn't have a motive."

"I'm just so magnetic you just couldn't help following me around, is that it? Just tell me what it was."

"I said I didn't—"

"Tristan." Ryuuji knew how to lie, and he knew how to tell when others were lying. "You said I was dangerous."

He thought he saw the slightest tightening of Tristan's fingers around the steering wheel, but it was too dark to tell for sure. "Yeah," Tristan said. "I did."

"Dangerous to who?"

For the first time that night, Ryuuji thought he saw the hint of a smile. "Yourself, mostly."

"Ha, ha."

"I'm serious, though," Tristan protested. "You don't—how did Bakura say it?—you don't have any sense of self-preservation."

Ryuuji found himself laughing. If there was anything that concerned him, it was his own well-being. "I think he must have been talking about you."

"He wasn't," Tristan said. "You're too nice for your own good, you know?"

Ryuuji found his laughter dying on his lips, and he shifted position, suddenly uncomfortable. "No," he said, forcing another laugh. "I'm really not."

He could sense Tristan looking at him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the passenger window and Tristan didn't try to continue the conversation.

They reached the neighborhood and Tristan pulled over on the opposite side of the street. Apart from the streetlights, the street was dark, but when he looked at the storefront, Ryuuji saw a light on in the upstairs room, and he had a hand on the door when Tristan said, abruptly: "I thought it'd be nice."

Ryuuji hesitated, and looked back at the driver's seat, but Tristan kept his eyes on the steering wheel as he spoke. "That's why, I mean," he said. "I thought it'd be nice, to talk to someone who wasn't afraid of me. Someone normal."

Biting back his initial self-deprecating response, Ryuuji looked up at the building and saw movement at the window. There was yellow tape over the door. He swallowed. "You mean you were lonely."

Tristan was looking up at the window, too. "Yeah," he said slowly, fiddling with the keys in his hand. "I guess so."

Ryuuji felt like he would be sick again, like a chasm had dropped out the bottom of his stomach and was just waiting to swallow him. "Look," he said. "You aren't—"

"I never thanked you," Tristan interrupted. "For what you did."

"No," Ryuuji said. "Don't." He shook his head, tried to ignore Tristan's surprised eyes on his, trying to rationalize his own behavior, but no matter how many times he told himself it had nothing to do with him, he couldn't make himself believe it. Not entirely. "Don't thank me," he said. "Not now. There's no hurry—"

"Just let me—"

"No." And before Tristan could contradict him, Ryuuji clumsily pulled the door open and got out of the car, distantly aware of Tristan doing the same on the other side. He kept his gaze on the store, waiting. Dreading.

And then he saw her, spilling out of the doorway, all angles and wide eyes and pale skin, in a cardigan several sizes too big for her over a hospital gown. She was barefoot, and she waited at the edge of the sidewalk for Tristan and Ryuuji to cross the street.

Ryuuji had expected her to be afraid of them, or at least need an explanation of what happened, but when she practically leapt into Tristan's arms, he realized that they must have shared a whole world of history that he would never hear nor understand. To them, whatever had happened tonight didn't need to be explained.

He saw Tristan whisper something into the girl's ear, something that made her cling to him tighter and made Ryuuji sway on his feet, and as they separated the girl turned toward him. Ryuuji didn't know how to introduce himself; he hardly even knew how to tell her who he was, but the girl smiled and stretched out her arms, embracing him as if they were old friends, and he found that no introductions were necessary.

"It's Ryuuji, right?" she said, pulling back. "I'm Serenity."

Now that they were face to face, he could see the signs of grief; red-rimmed eyes and pale skin, the bruises on her neck barely visible in the darkness as she smiled at him and shivered.

He'd only started to formulate a reply when he saw her eyes glance past him, toward Tristan, and her smile faltered for only a moment, but it was enough. Ryuuji turned.

There was nothing. Tristan was gone.

"He's-," Ryuuji started to speak, stopped himself. And then, louder, "_Dammit." _Then he was in the street, circling, staring into the shadows, but it was no use. You can't see a vampire who doesn't want to be seen, and you can't see a person who isn't there. He sucked in a breath, prepared to shout, but he felt Serenity grab his arm, pulling him back, and he wheeled toward her, infuriated and half-delirious, but she only clasped her hands and back slowly away from him.

"Please don't shout," she said. "I don't want the police to come back."

Ryuuji wanted to tell her to go to hell, but there was real fear in her eyes, and as he looked at her he realized that there was no point. So instead, he said, stupidly, "Why?"

Serenity's smile didn't fade, but he saw the tears in her eyes and realized that if she was smiling, it was only to keep herself sane. "Didn't he tell you?"

He stared. Then he turned away from her and paced down the street, trying to talk himself down. He was dizzy. He shouldn't be moving around this much. Not tonight.

He'd known. Of course he'd known. He'd just thought that if he could keep talking, keep Tristan distracted, he could prolong the inevitable.

"Idiot," he said, and uneasily turned back to Serenity. She was hugging herself, her shivering more pronounced in the middle of the street, where the buildings didn't block a brisk nighttime wind.

"Don't you want to go inside?"

She shook her head, and held out her hand. "These are for you, I think."

She was holding the keys to the Prius. "He said to say thank you."

"Of course he did," Ryuuji snapped, taking the keys and shoving them into his pocket with a viciousness that made Serenity stumble back. Her smile, already weak, faded, and she pulled the edges of her sleeves over her hands, mumbling fearful apologies until Ryuuji realized that he'd scared her and he forced himself to calm down, tugging on his hair and absorbing the silence of the night as if it could clear his head.

Finally Serenity said, timidly, "I didn't want him to go either, you know."

Ryuuji closed his eyes. "He was tired," he said, repeating Tristan's words and hating himself for it. He crossed his arms and squinted at the sky. Out in the suburbs, you could see the stars, but here in the city the lights made the sky barely visible.

"I have to go," he said. "Are you going to stay here?"

Hesitating, Serenity shook her head, and Ryuuji sighed. Of course. "Tristan said you didn't have anyone."

Another shake of the head. "I hate to ask," she said, her head down, "But I don't want—I'm afraid of what will happen...if I stay."

Ryuuji thought of the court cases, the foster homes, the abuse investigations. A family slaughtered, and no suspect in sight. "You don't have somewhere to go?" he said. "I'm not—it won't be much better with me."

Another, swifter, shake of the head. "I'll be fine," she said. "I mean...if you don't mind. I don't care where we go, or what—-what we do. You can leave me somewhere if you want. I just need to get out."

Ryuuji understood. "I thought about Mexico," he said. "But if there's somewhere else…"

"It's fine," she said. "Really. Anything's fine."

"Right," Ryuuji said. "Well, if you have anything you want to bring, go get it."

Serenity nodded, pale with relief, and after she ran back to the house to gather her things, Ryuuji walked back to the car. He leaned against the hood and waited.

"...bastard."

Glancing back up at the invisible stars, he fumbled through his pockets for that pack of cigarettes, then changed his mind when he found the lighter. He wasn't quite up to playing with fire tonight. Instead, he tugged at his hair again, trying to tighten his ponytail with one hand. After a few pointless seconds of that, he gave up and leaned back against the hood. For once, he was thankful for the cold; it was the only thing keeping him awake.

Maybe, just a little, he could say he was tired too. Just not tired enough to stop running. Never tired enough to stop running.

"Sorry," he said finally, whispering into the darkness, receiving no reply but the faint howl of the wind. Instead, Ryuuji watched the shadows, nodding with resignation when they stayed in place. Across the street, he saw Serenity emerge from the house.

He'd make it work.

**End**

* * *

_**XVII. The Star: **_Hope. A better future is possible but in order to attain it you must trust that it is possible.

_A/N: __All done! Thank you for reading, and if you have any feedback, constructive or otherwise, I'd love to hear it. I'd particularly love to hear about areas I could improve in and/or focus on in the future. _

_Additionally, if you liked this story enough to want more, I have a slew of information regarding character backgrounds, the writing process, etc., over on my LiveJournal (Masterpost link: **oxeyed . livejournal 10158 . html**)._

_Again, thanks for reading! I look forward to your feedback._


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